


Idol & The Anti

by staticskies



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Explicit Language, Family Issues, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Pining, Rating May Change, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticskies/pseuds/staticskies
Summary: Rome, a music engineer major, is currently a sophomore in college who works part-time in a record store where he meets Van who asks him on a date. The antisocial contrarian Rome initially rejects the friendly yet elusive Van but eventually agrees to give him a chance. Unexpectedly, Rome develops feelings for Van but finds out that Van is hiding a big secret: he's the lead singer of a band that Rome absolutely hates.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first original work. Please enjoy and leave feedback.

Rome is a contrarian by nature.

He never wanted to be. There is nothing in the world he'd rather be than a normal college student with normal hobbies and interests, and a calm, boring life. But he's felt doomed to abnormality since elementary school when he discovered his father's favorite band [Rush](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZiRuj2_czzw), which ignited his obsession with music. Or maybe it was in middle school when he began watching films with his brother like Pulp Fiction and Fargo, or Chinese films by Wong Kar-wai. At least, he knew for sure that his path to a normal life took a detour in high school.

The older he got, the more rejection he received from classmates and friends who cared more about keeping up with trends and mainstream media than listening to his new favorite band. It sickened Rome. High school was a turning point for his outlook on his life. He went from a kid who just wanted to share his new favorite things to the guy who wanted nothing to do with anyone. 

Sure, maybe he was being entitled. Not everyone had to care about some obscure movie opening in two theaters or a band who only releases demos every five years. But even so, this rejection he felt only made his already-bad temper worse.

He never means to fly into a fit of rage; he just can't help himself. And it only takes a little bit–someone asking him a question he thinks is stupid or a driver cutting him off on the road, or even his friend telling him he should do something–and Rome snaps.

Yet, by some miracle, he made new friends his first year at university who could accept his faults.

Rome specifically went to a university in the city, with a well-respected music engineering program that was only a few hours away from home but far enough away to avoid old friends and family. He was a bit trepidatious to dorm his first year, but his roommate, Miles, turned out to be someone he could stand. But with no help from his family financially and his entire savings (from throwing newspapers over five years) spent on the dorm tuition, Rome moved out of the dorm his second year. It was cheaper that way.

And as it turns out, Miles was financially suffering too, but unlike Rome whose parents refused to assist out of what he assumed was spite for moving away, Miles's family couldn't afford it. Thus, rent was an issue, so the two agreed on renting a one-bedroom for their second year to save on costs with Rome taking the actual bedroom, as he was paying more in rent, and Miles on the pull-out couch, who didn't mind. 

It almost worked out too smoothly. Rome began to question when his life would return the downward spiral, but unlike his pessimistic expectations, Miles even agreed to move in with him over the summer before their second year. Rome, who loathed returning home, helped Miles get a job with him at a local record store to afford the apartment. But Miles deemed it too boring and became a delivery boy within a few weeks. It didn't matter to Rome, really, as long as Miles paid rent. 

Thus, Rome spent his summer working at the 100BPM Record Store, completing a summer class, and spending time with his growing vinyl collection (and sometimes with Miles). But once September crept up on them, school started back up again, and Rome was already dreaming of summer within the first two weeks of his second year.

"You know," Miles says from Rome's side as they step through the heavy doors of the lecture hall. "We should study together. I still have no clue what's going on in that class."

Rome's in the middle of zipping up his hoodie when he hears the other speak. It's the only uniform his job requires him to wear with the store logo on it, but he still hates that someone is "making" him wear it. He gets it zipped halfway up, letting his Faith No More shirt peek out a bit, when Miles stops talking. It's when they reach the bottom of the stairs that he looks up to meet the other's stare.

"No time," Rome answers with a frown. "Gotta' work tonight."

"Me too, but I meant maybe later this week, man," Miles laughs.

Miles is still very much as Rome remembers him from when they first met; athletic, a little shy, prone to slouching (in a way that makes him look shorter than his actual height of six-foot), easily bored, and a bit stubborn. 

The main difference is that Miles seems to understand Rome by now and is much more laid back, a stark contrast to Rome's tenseness.

"What time are you coming back tonight then?" Miles asks as they round a corner. 

Rome gazes into the classrooms as they carry on down the hallway, catches a glimpse of professors lecturing, some scattered bits of conversation, and the motion of shuffling papers. Everyone seems to be learning something different in every room, but the tone is the same: business and finance. It's Miles's major, not his, but economics is an elective that he needs.

"Rome?" He hears Miles say at his side, and Rome glances up at him, while his mind rewinds through his short-term memory to reconnect the conversation.

"Jesus, what are you? My mom?" Rome snaps, and Miles just stares at him, shaking his head . But he can see a spark of annoyance in Miles's gaze even though he doesn't voice it, so he lets out a sigh. "You know I usually get out around nine." There's a pause while Rome clears his throat. "Are you working tonight too?"

"Yeah, definitely. I need the cash," Miles laughs as they come to the end of the hallway to a short set of stairs. It's quiet for a moment as the two walk down until Miles pushes the door open for Rome, letting him exit first. Rome doesn't comment on it. "I can grab a pizza on my way home for us if you want." 

The door closes after Miles walks through it, and Rome glances back at him to see Miles's sincere warmth of the smile. It's the one thing Rome values in his friend: honesty. Miles doesn't do things for Rome because he wants something from him–just his friendship.

"Sure." Rome adjusts his bag on his back and narrows his eyes at Miles. "Just don't get any fucking anchovies like last time."

He's mostly teasing, and Miles must pick up on this because he smiles and crossing his arms. Miles opens his mouth to reply, but then his gaze moves past Rome's head, and Rome feels a spark of annoyance at Miles's lack of attention. It's not that he needs it, but they were in the middle of a conversation.

"What do you have against anchovies?" Asks a voice from the side, too familiar to ignore, and Rome whips around to face a female student approaching them. Long black-haired and slender, wearing a knit dress with leggings, she stops only a few feet away, her hands deep in the pockets of her dark wool jacket. The bulky outerwear accentuates her short stature. She had, on her sharply defined face, an expression of amusement, mouth quirked into a smile. It annoyed Rome instantly.

He rolls his eyes at her. "Fuck off, Quinn," Rome bites, but she just laughs, and Rome can't fight back the tension of a smile. "Shouldn't you be at the art building?

Miles wasn't the only student Rome managed to befriend his first year. During his "Intro to Mass Communication" class, a required course for his major, Rome met Quinn, who wasn't offended when he scoffed at her "The Nobles" band shirt. Instead, she laughed and made fun of Rome's band shirt too, which surprised Rome considering his past experience with women who didn't appreciate his candor and sense of humor.

But assuming only the worst, Rome told her right away that he wasn't interested in women. Quinn laughed at him again for thinking she was flirting. They sat next to each other for the rest of the semester, and he introduced her to Miles at lunch the next week. Though they were all different majors with Rome in Music Engineering, Quinn in Graphic Design, and Miles in Business. The three spent more time together than Rome did with any of his friends in high school. Even if Rome wanted to avoid them, the business, music, and journalism buildings were next to each other on campus. Plus, Quinn worked part-time in the convenience store near Miles and his apartment.

"I'm done with classes for the day," Quinn tells them and raises a shoulder in a shrug. 

"Us too." It's Miles speaking again, and when Rome looks back, Miles is opening his backpack on the ground rather than meeting anyone's gaze. 

"But we gotta' work tonight."

"You two work too much," She laughs.

Miles seems to find what he's looking for and pulls a hat out of his bag, standing back up. "Yeah, well." He shrugs, laughs. "We live off-campus."

Quinn laughs. "Hey, I can't help that my scholarship pays for my dorm. I'm actually happy there." 

Rome snorts, rolls his eyes as he pulls out his phone to check the time. " _Happy, right_." He makes the words sound like an insult, loads then with all his judgment. "That's why you're always bitching about your roommate?"

"I'm trying to work things out!" He hears Quinn object, but Rome is closing apps on his phone with his head down, incapable of restraining his smile. He really can't stop himself from teasing her sometimes. Once he reads the time as 4:40 p.m., Rome glances up at Miles, who's also checking his phone then turns to Quinn.

She doesn't appear too particularly offended, so he doesn't bother apologizing and changes the subject. "Anyway, I have a favor to ask you guys," Quinn says. "And before you say no–"

"What do you want? We have to get going," Rome cuts off Quinn. He crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes.

Quinn huffs a laugh. "You sound pissed, and I haven't even said it yet." But instead of answering, she pulls a cellphone from her coat pocket and taps on the screen, and Rome can feel his patience running thin. Then she looks up at the two of them and holds her phone. It's a dark image with an abstract, space-like background, and white text, listing tour dates in November. At the top of the image is a logo with "There and Back Tour" in white and "The Nobles" logo.

Rome recognizes it instantly. "Good for you. Your mediocre rock band is coming to town," He says, retreating to sarcasm. Quinn rolls her eyes at Rome as expected and pulls her phone back.

"Wow, they're playing the Lottery Arena? Are you going?" Miles asks sincerely.

"The show will sell out for sure, but my friend from high school works there part-time. She already got me two tickets!" Quinn cheers, clutching her phone with a smile. "So, I was wondering–"

_Dear lord_ , Rome thinks to himself because he can already guess where this is going. "Absolutely not," He blurts to interrupt her again. "I can't sit through two hours of shrieking. Not to mention forcing me to listen to boring lyrics and four-four power chords all night."

Quinn sighs, gives up the argument before it even starts with a hunch of her shoulders that looks like frustration and feels like victory to Rome. "Okay, nevermind then. What about you, Miles?" She asks and turns to face the taller male beside Rome.

Miles's eyebrows raise. "Me?" He asks with a laugh. "Uh, I guess why not, unless something comes up. But why wouldn't you go with your friend?"

"Really? Thank you so much, Miles!" She says and grins wider. "My friend is working the event! She said she might even be able to squeeze me backstage to meet Victor."

It takes Rome a few seconds to register the name "Victor" before remembering that the band members all go by stage names. " _Victor_ ," He repeats the name with a snort and checks the time on his phone again. If Rome leaves now, he can catch the bus to midtown and not to be late. But there's still time to tease Quinn one last time. "What terrible names."

"Shut up," Quinn snaps. She's glaring when Rome looks over at her, color rising along her cheeks. "He's the main songwriter and basically the leader of the group."

Rome lets out a laugh. "Why do they all have such stupid stage names?" He taunts while Quinn glares at him with a frown.

Then a hand lands on Rome's shoulder, and Rome flinches before glancing up at Miles close to him. "Rome, aren't we leaving for work?" Miles points out with the perfect timing he usually displays when Quinn and Rome start arguing. 

It's not until Miles removes his hand that Rome nods, clearing his throat. He doesn't usually find Miles intimidating, even with the height (and muscle) difference, but maybe a part of him does in these situations. If anything, it makes him feel awkward. "Yeah, we are," He answers before turning to Quinn, who's still scowling and playing with her phone. Then, in a softer tone than usual, "I hope you have fun though, Quinn, even if I think they're terrible."

"You're such an ass," She tells Rome, but it comes with a smile and a breathless laugh.

* * *

Rome doesn't look up at the sound of the bell over the door chiming. It's loud over the soft sound of his favorite dark ambient album humming through the store speakers. He's just in the middle of adding an absurdly new order of used inventory, and if he stops now, there's a chance he may end up messing up the process.

"Welcome to one hundred B-P-M," He offers instead, speaking louder to compensate for the fact that he's still watching what he's doing. "Let me know if you need anything." Even though it's the last thing Rome wants to do.

There's a laugh with easy delight and a called-back, "No problem!" The voice is so warm and friendly that Rome starts to glance up before remembering what he's doing. When he looks back down, it's with a scowl, irritation at being nearly distracted. Over the next few minutes, he's a little more aggressive with the CD cases than he ought to be. It's not like it matters, really–they're replaceable–and then he's done, or at least done enough that he can set the whole project aside.

Then Rome gets a good look at the customer standing adjacent to the counter, flipping through the new vinyl section. His features are handsome by society's standards–his own too if he's honest–with high cheekbones, pale grey eyes, and full lips curved up into a smile. He's barely shorter than Miles, yet not as filled out in the shoulders nor as muscular. Judging by the barely-there signs of aging in his face, he's likely older. His hair is dark brown hair, maybe three inches in length, from where Rome can see it peek out from under the customer's white cap. His clothes are typical for customers in September, a tan wool jacket over a cream sweater, everyday jeans, and some trendy sneakers that Rome can't identify. 

Then his interest crumbles all at once.

" _You_ ," Rome growls, letting the rough edge of the word wear off in frustration as it goes. "You've been coming in here for a month without buying a thing, haven't you? Are you wasting our time or trying to case the joint?" He's cringing at the sound of his voice even as it comes out, remembering his boss's pleas that he "be more polite, please."

The customer blinks his attention from the vinyl display, focuses his gaze on Rome, then strides to the counter. His smile flashes brighter, and he says, "Sorry if I've been a bother. I just don't know what I want to buy. I got a record player recently, so I want to start a collection. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Be more specific," Rome snaps without thinking. Then he closes his mouth before he says something worse. 

"Just anything interesting," The other answers with a shrug.

"What _I_ think is interesting and what _you_ think is interesting is likely different," Rome growls at the customer. There's no real reason for his attitude either, just that something about the other's cheer grates on Rome's nerves. "Just pick up some basic record-collecting shit like Miles Davis." 

He doesn't get the typical reaction that usually comes when he's rude to customers. Instead, the other keeps his smile and tilts his head slightly as if he's confused. "Miles Davis?"

There's a surge of irritation in Rome again. "Are you kidding me?" Rome hisses. 

The customer laughs at Rome. "No, sorry." There's no reason it should tighten Rome's jaw like it does, but he's grinding his teeth even before the other answers.

Rome leans forward, resting his forearms on the table like he's about to share a secret. The customer doesn't move to meet him. "He's only the most influential and acclaimed artist in the history of jazz," He explains past gritted teeth. "Why the _hell_ did you even buy a record player? Was is it to impress chicks that come to your place, or was it to make you look smart in front of your friends? I bet you bought one of those cheap ones that open up in a suitcase. You know they look cool and all, but they will tear up your records." Then Rome straightens off the counter and crosses his arms. " You don't even deserve to collect records. "

The customer is watching him with a smile that hasn't flickered the entire time since Rome started ranting. "Do you want to get coffee with me sometime?" He asks suddenly. 

Rome blinks at him. There is a long moment of silence between them with just the sound of his [Biosphere](https://youtu.be/jg2VpYtUZj8?t=2008) record playing in the background through the store speakers. His first instinct is to reach for some adequate insult, finds none appropriate. He eventually settles for, "What?" 

The others smile doesn't so much as flicker. "Sorry, I should introduce myself. My name is Van. I live nearby, and I want to take you out for coffee. After work sometime, or on the weekend, if you're free then."

"What?" Rome repeats with just as much anger. He's not sure if the customer - Van is messing with him or serious, but it sends a shiver down his spine.

Van appears unfazed, responding with an easy, "I've been seeing you in here for a month now. And I wanted to get to know you. If you don't mind."

"No," Rome says instantly, without even thinking about it. He's half-hoping this will dim the brightness in the other's eyes, but Van just smiles.

"Okay, I figured it was a long shot," He says, shrugs like it doesn't matter. "I knew you probably had a girlfriend anyway."

"No girlfriend," Rome says in a rush, doesn't know why he even shares this information.

Van laughs, quick and bright. "Boyfriend?"

"No," Rome snaps. "I just don't like you."

"Why not?" Van asks, apparently sincerely, and Rome can feel the weight of the customer's eyes on him, can feel his cheeks going warm.

"I just don't like you." Rome turns to the computer, typing with all the aggression he can muster. "Now, are you actually going to buy something?"

"I thought I don't deserve to collect records." Van retorts. When Rome looks up from the computer, Van's smile is back; it's blinding, so bright that Rome has to look away again at the screen instead.

"You don't, but you should buy something or get out. You're loitering." Rome turns and reaches for the list of pending orders so he can stare at it, pretending to be busy. "Don't you have work or have class or something?"

"Yeah," Van admits. "I guess I'll head out then." There's the sound of footsteps, the squeak of the door, and Rome doesn't look up until he hears the bell ring, thinking he'll be safe.

He's not. Rome is standing in the doorway, glancing back at him and still grinning. "What if I had something to buy? Can I come back then?"

"You'll be a customer then, so I can't ask you to leave," Rome grates because he can't manage to look away now.

Van laughs. "Okay, I'll keep that in mind!" Then he slips almost completely out the door, and Rome thinks he's finally free until Van pops his head back in the doorway. It's almost comical. "By the way, I never got your name!"

_That's why I don't wear a name tag,_ Rome thinks to himself but answers, "Rome," because it's easier than dragging this conversation on any further. Van flashes a grin that sparkles dark in his eyes.

"Okay, Rome. Thanks for the suggestion earlier. I'll listen to some Miles Davis tonight!" And then he's gone, slipping out the door and out of Rome's sight.

Rome scowls at the computer screen, wondering what gave Van the idea that Rome wouldn't reject him. He didn't even know Rome's name, yet Van acted like they've been talking on a dating app for a month straight. He's still not sure the entire thing wasn't a prank. Maybe his old high school friends finally found him. They knew he was gay; maybe they even knew his type.

But there was always the chance that Van really was just interested in him. He seemed genuine; Rome considers for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't have rejected the other so quickly. He can feel himself blushing, self-consciousness spilling hot across his cheeks.

Then he pulls himself together, decides he made the right choice and doesn't spare it another thought the rest of his shift.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Van's attention is entirely gone by four o'clock.
> 
> He's been distracted all week—with good reason, he feels. Now he has a name to turn over in his head with the memory of blue eyes staring daggers into him."

Van's attention is entirely gone by four o'clock.

He's been distracted all week—with good reason, he feels. Now he has a name to turn over in his head with the memory of blue eyes staring daggers into him. But it's a particularly bad today. The only time he stops thinking about the clerk is when it's time to record his vocal parts, and even then, it's only when he's actually singing.

His mental haze is back as soon as he's waiting for the audio engineer to give him the signal to begin again. Van's happy to pace, in the small space his headphones' cord will allow, and let his mind wander through anticipation and hope of his their next interaction. It's only the sound of a voice in his headphones that brings his attention back to reality.

"Van, you ready?" The producer asks. He's on the other side of the glass wall, speaking into a mic. "Just start from the 'Heavy hearts from rain sometimes _'_ part."

Van nods. "Yeah, okay," He answers and drops his gaze to the paper on the music stand in front of him below the mic. The lyrics are handwritten notes he added to remember specifics the band discussed the last session.

The click track plays in his ear first, followed by the musical accompaniment, and he waits for his part during the chorus before taking a breath to begin singing.

"Heavy hearts from rain sometimes, but it's alright cause bear in mind– _"_ He cuts himself off before his voice cracks, letting out a sigh of frustration. "Sorry, sorry. Can I try that again?"

When Van looks up through the glass, Louis is staring at him over his glasses from where he stands next to the producer, hunched over with one hand on the table of the soundboard. Louis's hair is tied back, twisted into a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck, though it's only half-effective at keeping the curly black strands from his face. But Van can still see the others scowl of frustration and can hear it in his voice when Louis leans in closer to the mic on the soundboard to say, "What's up with you today, Van?"

Van finds a smile, holds to it under Louis's glare through the glass. "Sorry," He apologizes into the mic. He's been trying to focus on getting the lyrics right, but his focus is slipping, attention stuck on the advent of seeing Rome again instead of wrapping up the final track for their new album. "I think I should take five," He adds, then pulls the headphones off. Leaving the lyrics and liner notes on the music stand, Van heads exits the glass room with his smile intact even with his internal frustration.

When he enters the dark studio room, Van scans the occupants, past Louis and the producer at the soundboard, to their band manager Angus who stands near the back of the room. "You know Van is a perfectionist, Louis." It could be taken as a reprimand, but Angus delivers it with the same absolute calm he gives to everything

He's not even meeting Van's gaze, staring at the cell phone in his hand so all Van can see is Angus's red hair, slicked back, so it doesn't fall out of place and into his eyes. Everything about Angus screams _business,_ from the tight-fitted button-up to the pleated dress pants and designer sunglasses hanging from his collar. Van swears he's never seen the thirty-five-year-old dressed any other way, even after three years of working together. 

"Maybe he's just tired," Louis argues, glancing over his shoulder at Angus. "We have been here since _seven_ in the morning."

Finally, Angus looks up to stare at Louis, his mouth dragging to frown at the corners. His distraction must be clear to everyone. Van feels an apology forming at his lips when Angus says, "Okay, okay. Let's end today's session now then. It doesn't seem like we're going to make much more progress." His gaze meets Van's for moment, and by the time Van realizes that he's being addressed, Angus is looking back down at his phone.

He glances over at Louis, who is high-fiving the producer with a grin, and Van doesn't have to reach for the smile that uncurls itself across his face. "Thank God," Louis grumbles then leans down under the soundboard to grab his backpack, putting his belongings together to leave. Van turns to follow suit, reaching for his water bottle on a table near the door.

"Before you leave," Angus starts, and Van hears Louis groan before the other even finishes. "I just want to remind you that the group needs to be at Studio Q at 5 a.m. for the shoot tomorrow. That's all."

When Van twists back around, Angus isn't even looking again, but Louis is haking his head at him. "At least, shooting for the single is done," Van offers, trying to cheer his bandmate up." Now we just have to do some promo shots for the album and the tour, right, Angus?"

Angus hums in agreement.

"Why do we always leave this stuff until the last minute? The tour starts in a few months," Louis complains, rolling his eyes.

Van feels the need to soothe his friend and takes a step forward, placing his hand on the others shoulder. "It's okay. It'll work out like always."

When Van removes his hand from the other's shoulder, Louis smiles at his words of encouragement. "I know. I'm just stressed." He reaches up to run a hand through his curls, untangling pieces of hair from his ponytail. "Our fans keep commenting on our Twitter that they can't wait for the new album. So, I don't want to disappoint them."

He knows exactly what Louis means. All the members in their band were conscious of their fans' wants and needs, but as the primary songwriter, Louis took it harder than anyone else. "We won't, don't worry," Van offers. "I mean, they end up loving everything we put out anyway. That's what's so great about our fans. They always have our back."

"I ain't putting out crap," Louis snaps, the word harsh with the intensity of sincerity. "I'm surprised they stayed with us after Kingdom. That album was rushed."

"I didn't think it was that bad," Angus interrupts, and Van cuts his gaze to see the other approaching them with his phone in one hand but finally looking at them instead of the screen. "But that's why we cut the writing staff down and let you have more control, right?" He's talking to Louis now, meeting the other's stare.

Louis snorts. "You don't know what's good, Angus."

There's a familiarity to these words that Van remembers from the distance of his memories; he's reaching for it–then he has a moment of sudden recognition.

_"What I think is interesting, and you think is interesting is likely different."_

Rome said something similar last week, he remembers, and Van's eyes go wider for just a moment before Louis's hand waves in front of his face. "Where'd you go, Van?" Louis asks, and when Van refocuses his vision to the present, Louis is staring at him remarkably soft without the tension of frustration.

He laughs more to distract Louis from worrying more than because the situation is funny. "Nowhere. I was just thinking about the album," He lies and turns his back to Louis while he pulls his phone from his pocket to check the time.

Though Van had only visited the record store a few times over the past month, he noticed that Rome generally worked the night shift, which meant it was likely he could see the other if he stopped. Van's mouth quirks up at the corner, curving into a smile at the thought, and he's almost at the door when Angus speaks up. "Want me to take you two back to the apartment?"

When they're leaving or entering the studio, Angus usually drives them back in one of the company van, but when it's only the two of them, they can ride the public transportation anonymously rather comfortably. Being spotted by fans in public is both a pleasant surprise and a dangerous experience. 

Out of necessity and safety, the band lived together at first, but they quickly decided more time apart would help their relationship, leading to everyone finding their own apartment. It also made it harder for fans to locate them. Currently, Louis lived only a few blocks away from the record store in a private luxury apartment, equipped with a doorman and keycard entry.

"No thanks, Angus," Van tells him, looking back over his shoulder at Louis and his manager approaching. "I'm going to grab some food before heading back."

"Uh, huh." Louis sounds unconvinced and maybe a little amused as he begins to smile. "Not going to that record store again?"

Although he hasn't said anything to Louis about Rome, Van took Louis to the record store a few times to shop–and look less like a stalker. That and his bandmate knew him too well. Louis pointed out during the trip that Van was a little too interested in the cashier.

Van clears his throat out of audible awkwardness at the question and hid his smile with his back turned to Louis as he faces the door. "Maybe," He admits softly enough that he wonders if Louis and Angus heard him. 

But then as he pushes the door open, Van hears Louis snort.

* * *

Van doesn't question his stroke of good fortune that Angus let them out of the recording session early. He's out of the building so quickly he doesn't realize he's left his coat behind him until he's entirely around the corner, heading to the record store. But with the studio on the sixth floor, Van decides against going back to get it and suffers in the cold with just a zip-up hoodie and a t-shirt (and a hat for anonymity) while he walks five blocks.

The excitement is flushing him so warm with anticipation that cold is the least of his worries by the time he reaches the store. It's on the first floor of one of the smaller buildings in midtown with only two levels above it, which could be offices or apartments. The area wasn't close enough to be considered downtown nor far away enough to be the suburbs. 

"Hey, Rome!" Van calls out as he pulls the door to the store open. The bell over the door sounds to announce his presence in time with his words, and the individual in question shakes his head without looking up from the counter. The store is larger than the average local record shop but smaller than a mega-media store in the mall. Grey walls are lined with custom paintings, music memorabilia, enlarged album artwork, and vintage tour posters. Records, tapes, and CDs are sectioned off by genre, but Van doesn't recognize many besides rock, pop, and hip hop.

Rome's got a pile of random records in front of him as he types at a computer on the counter, adjacent to the storefront window displaying the newest releases. With Rome's head ducked, his eyes are not visible, only the teal color of his choppy, straight hair, bangs short enough to fall over his forehead but not into his eyes. It's almost purposefully messy and a little longer in the back, cut to the nape of his neck. His dark roots are showing but not overgrown. "Go away."

"I got off work a few minutes early and came straight here to shop." Van moves toward a display rack of new releases near the counter. "Can't you be a little nicer?" He asks the question with a laugh and a smile, watching Rome while his fingers flip through the vinyl.

"Can you be a little less annoying?" Rome mocks =before looking up at Van. He sets the record in his hand down so he can lean against the counter and fix Van with a glare.

There's a pause of silence between them, and Van notices the sound of heavy guitar riffs and blast beats over high-pitched screaming that he can only assume is some type of [metal](https://youtu.be/YgQRRI9goFg?t=103). "You said I could come back if I bought something," Van reminds him.

Rome groans. "What do you want?" He looks defeated, but he sounds livid as if Van's actually upset him.

"I want something for my sister." Van says immediately. He's spent the walk over thinking of an excuse to come here. "Her birthday is coming up, and she's a big music fan."

" _Something_ ," Rome repeats, so slowly it twists into mockery. "Christ, that's really precise. What music does she like? Help me out here."

"Sorry, I'm not good with genres," He laughs. When Van lifts a hand to scratch his neck, Rome's eyes follow the motion, like Van's pulling his gaze by a string. 

"Clearly," Rome mutters sarcastically. "What's her favorite artist then?" He still sounds irritable, but he's not glaring anymore.

It takes Van a second to remember. He doesn't see his sister as often as he used to, ever since the group signed to a bigger label. Now they spend more time catching up than talking about hobbies and interests. But he tries to think back and imagine her room, back when he used to live at home with her and his mother. Then it hits him. He remembers the poster on the wall above her desk. "The White Stripes?" He provides with a little uncertainty.

Rome blinks as if he's been caught by surprise. Though he's still frowning. "Okay, who else?"

Van doesn't even try this time. "That's all I've got," He says, shrugging his shoulders.

"Fuck," Rome huffs and pushes away from the counter to the half-door where he pushes it open. "Do you even know which albums she owns?" He asks, walking away from the counter to stand a few feet from Van. 

With the other so close, Van notices the height difference isn't as much as he thought, the top of Rome's head coming up to Van's eyes. "No," Van answers after a moment.

This gets him an eye roll. "Of course not," Rome mutters under his breath then walks around Van toward another a display with a "Rock/Pop" label hanging above it. Van doesn't move, watching Rome shuffle through the vinyl. "How old is she anyway?" Rome asks as he pulls two records and lays them on top of the others.

"She's fourteen," Van answers immediately.

When Rome turns around, he's finally smiling, leaning against the display slightly. "How does she already have better taste than you?"

Instead of answering, Van takes this opportunity to ask a question he's been wondering. "How old are you?" 

Rome narrows his eyes at Van, mouth in a frown. "Nineteen. Why? Are you taking a census?" He huffs.

"No, I just wanted to know," Van answers honestly.

"Maybe that's something you should've asked before asking me on a date." Rome scoffs.

Van stares at him, lets his grin slide wide on his face. "Have you been reconsidering?" Van teases.

"Fuck off." Rome snaps, but Van can see crimson flicker across the other's cheeks before he turns back to face the display of vinyl, snatching one of the albums he pulled out. When Rome turns back around, there's just his glare left now. "Didn't you come here to buy something? Not annoy me."

Van laughs as Rome approaches him with a vinyl in hand. He shoves it at him without meeting his gaze, and Van's hand comes out on instinct, taking it from the other. He notices Rome pulled away fast enough to avoid any touching. "Don't you even want to know how old I am?" Van asks, watching Rome walk back to the counter.

He doesn't look at Van, instead staring down at the records on the counter. "Couldn't care less." It hurts Van's pride a bit, but he remembers how odd this conversation is in the first place with a stranger.

"I'm twenty-two, just had my birthday last month," He tells Rome anyway. 

Rome looks up, leveling the full force of his irritation at Izaya. "Mazel tov," He says in a clearly sarcastic tone. "Now, quit standing there like an idiot and come check out so I can get back to work." 

"Wasn't that work when you were helping me? Isn't that part of your job?" Van asks as he approaches. He had planned to stay longer, to linger long enough to learn more about the other, but Rome seems to be pushing him to leave.

After Van sets the vinyl on the counter, Rome picks it up and scans the barcode with a remote before turning to the computer. "Do you even care why I picked it?" He asks Van without looking away from the computer screen.

"Why did you pick it out?" Van humors him.

"'White Blood Cells' is The White Stripes's most cohesive album overall. It's what led the band to make their mainstream album 'Elephant,' which has popular songs like Seven Nation Army and Black Math. You probably even know some of the songs on those," Rome explains while he places the record into a plastic bag with care. When he holds it out for the other to take, he meets Van's eyes with an almost-condescending smile at his lips. "But a true fan would appreciate their roots."

Van takes a step closer to the counter as he grabs the bag from Rome, close enough that he can see the suggestion of light freckles across the other's cheeks. He grins when Rome takes a step back, a retreat of barely a few inches. "You seem to know a lot about them. Are they your favorite band?" He queries then returns to a safe distance from the counter.

Rome makes a strangled sound of outrage. "I work at a record store. Why else would they hire me if I didn't actually know my shit?" Rome growls.

He's probably right, but Van still wants to know. "So, are they?"

Rome shakes his head. "No, they're not. I don't even care for them."

"Okay, then who's your favorite band?" Van pesters.

Rome sighs, sounding irritated. "If I tell you, will you leave?" He asks and points at the door, raising his brows.

He considers Rome for a moment. "Yes."

"Ulver," Rome answers, gaze sliding down and away from Van to look at a notepad on the counter.

He's never heard of the band, or the artist, but because Van can't help himself, he asks, "What do they sound like? Are they from around here?" 

He still doesn't look up. "Google. Fucking use it," Rome snaps, the tone excessively harsh, but it tells Van that the other is done with him for the day. 

Van hesitates, not sure if he should test Rome's patience. They're still strangers, and Rome clearly has no problem being rude to customers. "Okay, gotcha," he finally says, turning away from the counter but glances over his shoulder to see if Rome's watching him. He isn't. "Thanks for helping me out anyway. My sister will probably love it." He adds.

Rome doesn't look up from where he's typing something into the computer. "Maybe _she_ should do the shopping next time."

He blinks. It takes Van a moment to turn those words over in his head, to see past the sound of irritation to the half-hidden implication under them. Uncontrollable delight spreads across his lips, and he turns his back to the door.

"Uh, yeah," He agrees. "I'll bring her some time! See you next time, Rome."

Van's almost entirely out the door, walking backward with his back holding it open, when Rome's head snaps up. Whatever he's doing at the counter is forgotten for the wide-eyed stare he gives Van. For a moment, there's just shock across his face; Van sees Rome's forehead crease, watches the other's mouth shape into a frown.

And by the time Rome's yelling, "That wasn't an invitation," Van's grinning his way out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two. Not sure if anyone is reading this story, but I enjoy writing it. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rome can feel his heart skid out on a beat when he looks up to meet the shadows of Rome’s stare and lopsided smile. This is the second time they’ve touched today. “I’m only interested in you right now,” Van drawls as he leans in closer while Rome stands still for him. "

Rome sleeps in late on Friday.

He’s not particularly prone to drowsing away his mornings. When he was living at home, Rome was often roused awake by his mother calling him down for breakfast, whether he was in school or not. And if he didn’t come down the stairs to join his three brothers and sister for breakfast, Rome’s father would be marching up the stairs to reprimand him until he did, complaining about “teenage boys and their late nights,” which Rome never thought was very applicable to him. He never attended a single party outside his family gatherings after the age of ten. 

But since starting college, Rome’s up later than usual with most of his classes starting around ten, which leaves him prone to sleeping later just to ease the strain of mental exhaustion and working three to four times a week. 

Thursday night, he slept particularly well with the night off from work and no night classes. But when he does start the inevitable progress towards consciousness, Rome jerks awake in bed, quickly piecing together the blanket tangled around his legs and the support of the mattress against him. Then his gaze sweeps from the comforter to his phone sitting on the cheap Ikea nightstand. When he reaches for it and turns it over, Rome practically feels his stomach drop at the time displayed. 

It was ten-thirty with only fifteen minutes remaining until his ten forty-five Communications class. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem since he doesn’t take too long to get ready with minimal attention given to his hair and clothes, but he still has to print an essay he slaved over last night.

“Fuck,” Rome gasps, panic running through him as he untangles himself from the blanket and rushes across his room. It’s the smallest room in the house, apart from the bathroom, and his closet is even smaller, barely containing his ridiculously large band tee collection. Grabbing a random shirt and his hoodie for work later with a pair of jeans, he dresses as fast as he can before ripping open the door to the kitchen and living room area of the apartment.

Miles is already awake, as he always is after his early morning run. He must have skipped his class or doesn’t have one on Friday because he’s still home. Rome doesn’t bother keeping track of his roommate’s schedule, but it looks like Miles has no intention of leaving in a while, judging from the slouch he’s adopted on the futon. It’s still pulled out from when Miles slept on it at night, and he’s wearing a white tee and boxers with a blanket draped over his legs.

The screen is flickering with the movement of a video game, probably Grand Theft Auto, guided by the controller in Miles’s hands. The sound is turned down low, which is Miles’s way of accommodating to Rome’s hatred of being woken up early by “annoying noises.” It was something they discussed early on when Rome found himself waking up to Miles’s blaring Friends at two in the morning from the living room where sleeps.

“Morning,” Miles mumbles but doesn’t look up, and Rome doesn’t answer as he grabs his backpack from the computer chair at a desk next to Miles’s futon.

He fumbles with it for a few seconds, searching inside for his thumb drive, only breathing out a sigh of relief when he locates it. “Running late,” Rome mutters even though Miles might not be listening. “Forgot to set my alarm. Goddammit.” He’s reprimanding himself internally as he moves to their compact kitchen.

There’s a bowl of breakfast bars on the counter, and he swipes one for himself then heads to the bathroom through his bedroom. “Take my bike to class. Don’t worry about the bus,” Miles suggests loudly.

Staring at the mirror, Rome’s brushing his hair while making a mental note to redye his hair when he feels a weight lift from his shoulders at Miles’s offer. He lets himself smile for a moment before rushing out to the living room and grabbing his bag. As he’s stepping into his converse, Rome glances back at Miles still playing the game. “Thanks, man,” He tells the other who finally meets his eyes.

“No problem. Just bring it back by three. I’m gonna’ work tonight,” Miles says, and then his attention is back on the tv screen.

Rome frowns as he turns to the door, taking his keys from a peg on the wall and MIles’s pair for the bike lock. He really hates being late.

* * *

“Stupid,” Rome growls to himself as he leans over a chair in the computer lab, clicking around to print off his paper from his thumb drive. He glares at the machine with a frown as if it’s personally responsible for his forgetfulness

The printer across the room hums, and he gets up from his seat to stand next to it, checking the time on the clock above the lab’s door. He has five minutes left, Rome notes, and as if on cue, another student sprints into the room.

Rome doesn’t know him. The boy has shoulder-length blond hair, broad shoulders in a leather jacket, and bird tattoo wrapped around his neck. He barely glances at Rome when he enters and sits down at the computer.

Rome’s attention returns to the printer when it beeps loudly. He taps on the screen, and the display reads “Error 45647.” That’s another minute wasted, he thinks to himself as he walks back to the computer, not bothering to sit down again. His next few seconds are spent opening up the document and sending it to print again after changing the settings. 

But before Rome can return to the printer, the other student stands up from his chair and beats him to it. Rome brushes it off as a coincidence, trying to ignore the nagging paranoia in the back of his mind, then follows him, standing a few feet behind the other. 

He checks his phone for the time again while he listens to the shuffling of papers sliding out and onto the tray. The other student grabs what came out, staring down at it in his hands, and Rome takes a step forward to wait for his own paper when he hears, “Hey.”

Rome ignores it. He doesn’t know him; he’s sure of it. Maybe he’s talking to someone else in the lab, he considers it for a moment then remembers there wasn’t anyone else.

“Hey.” A pause, another step closer, and Rome looks up, surprise moving him against his intent.

The student is staring at him. He’s taller than Rome with grey-blue eyes, smells like a strong woody cologne. His attention drops, skimming over Rome’s body in a once-over that makes Rome tense up, and then the stranger’s mouth relaxes into a smile. 

“I think this is your paper actually,” He says, examining the paper, and Rome observes the tattoos on the other’s fingers instead of answering. The question is unexpected and catches him off guard. “Wow, you write  _ way  _ better than me.” He holds the papers out for Rome in a loose grip.

“Yeah, thanks,” Rome answers dryly as he takes his essay from the other's hands. “It’s for Intro to Comm.”

There’s a sound from the printer, and the other student turns away from Rome to swipe the contents from the tray. “Yeah? Me too,” He laughs. “I’m heading there now. Totally forgot to print this stupid essay. Who assigns a paper so early in the semester?”

He frowns at his apparent classmate. “Then let’s go now, chat later before we’re late,” Rome says with aggressive honesty. He adjusts the bookbag on his back and makes his way to the door, not waiting for the other.

“Yeah, she might knock points off or something,” His classmate remarks as he follows Rome through the door and down the hallway toward the lecture hall. 

The computer lab isn’t far from the classroom. It’s not until they’re halfway there when Rome notices his classmate walking beside him, watching him. “I’m Tomi by the way,” He introduces himself, nodding his head.

“Rome,” He offers as they round a corner and because he can’t help himself, “Are you sure we’re in the same class? I swear I haven’t seen you before.” Rome couldn’t imagine forgetting someone with bright hair and so many tattoos. Though he was one to talk with his unnatural colored hair.   
  
“Oh man. You noticed?” Tomi says, sounding shocked and delighted at the same time. “Good observation skills there, Rome.”

“ _ Yep _ ,” Rome drawls, pulling the word long and skeptical. “So do you just skip a lot or what?”

They’re walking into the lecture hall, and Tomi raises his brows in a way that says he will answer later, placing his paper on a table in the front of the room. Rome mirrors his action before walking up the stairs to a row of chairs where he takes a seat near the middle of the back row. When he sits down and pulls his backpack off, Rome cuts his gaze sideways to see the other take the seat next to him.

  
Tomi drops his backpack on the floor and shrugs off his jacket. “Anyway, you’re right. I do skip a lot. I’m in a metal band, so I skip a lot to tour.” He explains. “I’m actually on my third year but still a sophomore by credits since I keep taking less and less classes.”

Rome hums. Now the tattoos make sense. He considers asking which band but doesn’t want to insult Tomi already if he doesn’t like them. “Ah, I see.” He opens his bag to retrieve his computer and assumes the conversation is over.

But it isn’t because Tomi leans in close to him a few seconds later and whispers, “So can you do me a favor?”

His classmates don’t talk to him often, especially not this much or this close. “What?” Rome snaps a bit too harshly.   
  


“Can I borrow your notes when I can’t make it to class?” Tomi asks, backing away so he can lean back against the chair and sprawl his legs out.

Rome rolls his eyes at Tomi who begins to yawn. “Sure,” He sighs. ”I’m already taking them anyway. Just don’t make a big deal out of it, okay? Give me your email.”

“Sounds good,” Tomi agrees, grabbing a pen from his bag to scribble down his email. When he hands the paper to Rome, Tomi’s lips drag into a lopsided smirk like he knows some secret that he’s not sharing. Rp,e slides it into his Communications book and decides he’ll add it to his contacts later. “Oh yeah, one more thing, Rome,” Tomi continues like he hasn’t noticed Rome’s irritation. “I really need to do well in this class, so I was wondering-”

“What now?” Rome cuts him off.

Tomi straightens in his seat, and for a second, Rome wonders if he’s snapped at the wrong person. But Tomi lifts his hands up in a defensive motion instead. “Sorry, I was just going to ask if you’d proofread my next paper. I really want to do well in this class, but my writing isn’t great. I noticed yours was pretty good when I looked at your paper.”

  
  
Didn’t Tomi just say a minute ago that he was technically a junior? Why was he asking Rome for help? Maybe he was a terrible student. How much did his band tour? “What’s in it for me?” Rome inquires because he’s done playing nice today.

  
  
His classmate’s eyes flicker wide for a moment, surprise clear across his face. Then Tomi smiles and relaxes into the seat again. “You’re seriously surprising me today. Observation skills and now negotiating? What major are you? Pre-law?”

Rome huffs. “Hell no. I’m in music engineering.I just don’t do shit like that for free,” He answers, almost offended.

“All right,” Tomi chuckles. ”How about twenty dollars every time you proofread?”

He expected a favor or something closer to five dollars, but Rome wasn’t going to argue. “Agreed.” His mouth curves into what he supposes technically counts as a smile and holds his hand out for Tomi to shake.

“Agreed,” Tomi echoes. 

His handshake is firm, a little awkward in the angle of his hand and the deliberateness of his motion. When the other lets his hand go, Rome retracts his hand and stares down at his notebook. On one hand, Rome had a feeling Tomi probably wouldn’t show up much now that he had someone taking notes. But on the other hand, if he didn’t show up, Rome could sit alone.

Somewhere, somehow, Quinn was judging him for these antisocial thoughts. Maybe he should stop recapping things like this to her and Miles in their group chat.

* * *

It’s six o’clock the next time Rome checks his phone, and he’s already been at work for two hours–two whole hours of hell. Even though he managed to get to class on time and turn in his paper, it’s one thing after the other today. First, it’s his manager calling off again, leaving him to work five hours alone, then it was the housewife who needed help buying her son a vinyl player. He spent way too long ranting to her and not enough shoving her out the door.

Rome wonders what it is about him today that’s attracting so many assholes and morons because his current customer is the worst of them all. Standing on the opposite side of the counter is a restless middle-aged woman waiting for him to complete the purchasing order with a grimace and crossed arms. He’s seen her around before, usually in an alleyway, but Rome tries not to look.

Rome’s examining the box of vinyl the woman shoved onto the counter and demanded to be priced “immediately”. Normally, Rome will tell customers to wait, but he wasn’t busy at the time. Though now it seems like a waste.

It’s a cardboard box of old vinyl, mostly from the ’60s and ’70s, and he’s already nearing the end of the stack. The offer will be low when it comes to this type of buy because most customers have worthless, mass-produced records. Picking up another copy of Engelbert Humperdinck, Rome shakes his head. This one is just as useless as the last forty.

“Are you almost done?” Comes a voice, and Rome huffs in annoyance before looking up to meet the eyes of the lady glaring fury at him.   
  
“ _ Almost _ ,” Rome snaps then returns his attention to the vinyl.

The bell on the store’s front door chimes a second later, and he just  _ knows  _ without even looking up who it will be before he even hears Van’s shouting “Rome!” like he’s walking into a bar in a 90s sitcom. 

It’s been about a week, so his most annoying customer is due for a drop in. 

Rome’s fingers go tense around the vinyl while he places it in the box, and he can’t help but check to be sure. When Rome sees Van’s face, he darts his gaze away. “Van,” Rome calls in a mocking voice, abandoning the box of vinyl so he can type the last few items into the computer.

Van is wearing a black cap again, along with his wool coat and a Nike hoodie, but Rome’s focus is mostly on the customer who’s glaring at Van as he approaches. “How’s business?” Van asks and leans with an elbow on the edge of the counter. Rome isn’t looking at Van’s face, so he doesn’t see whatever expression goes along with the friendliness of his voice. 

But there’s a shift of motion, and Rome watches the woman step closer to the counter–closer to Van. "Wait in line. I was here first," She snaps at Van.

Van doesn't look angry when Rome checks his expression, not even a flicker of annoyance. Van smiles at him and laughs. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to cut ahead,” He says, and he’s taking a step back from the counter and the woman. “Just chatting with the cashier.”

The customer’s forehead creases, her eyes narrow. For a moment, Rome thinks she’s going to do something rash, then:

“Good,” She says to Van, her mouth twisting on some emotion too repressed for Rome to interpret. “But I'm in a hurry, and he’s taking  _ forever _ . Can you go away?” 

In any other situation, Rome would actually find it funny that someone else is telling Van to leave him alone, but this woman is definitely trouble. It’s crystal clear now.

Van nods his head. “Got it,” He says before glancing at Rome, just for a second. Then he steps away, walking to the middle of the store where they stock jazz records. Van stares for a moment then runs his hand along the vinyl shoved together in the display before looking up at the counter.

Rome can feel his face go hot under the other’s watchful gaze. He turns away, typing the final few items into the computer while the customer lingers near the counter. The list is pretty long, but most of the records are old and damaged. When he finally calculates the total, he probably less than the woman wants. But he still takes a breath and turns to her. “Okay, our final offer is twenty dollars,” He announces dryly.

The customer’s gaze drops to the box. “Are you—” The customer starts but cuts herself off. Her frown is all for Rome, as if the other is personally responsible for her predicament. “Twenty dollars? That’s it?”

“Yes,” Rome grits out. He can see Van watching them in the corner of his eye, not even pretending to be looking at the records anymore. 

“There’s like fifty records in there,” She growls at Rome and points to the box.

Rome takes a long and deep breath with his eyes closed. Choking customers would definitely get him fired, especially choking a woman, so he throws out that option. Maybe she just needs an explanation.

When he opens his eyes, Rome narrows his gaze at the customer then tugs out a record. "You see this Kenny Rogers 'Christmas' album? It was released in ‘81, and there's hundreds of thousands of copies." He tosses the album back into the box, and the customer’s eyes widen. "Do you know what this goes for online, huh? Thirty-nine cents. So to make a profit, we’d have to buy it from you at fifteen at the least. Most of these records are just like this one. I'm really being generous here offering you twenty." Then Rome turns to the register next to the computer and pushes in the offer button until the drawer slides out. He counts out twenty in fives before holding it out to the other with a frown. 

"Take it or–" Rome doesn't get to finish because she is swiping the cash from his hand and sending him one final glare before exiting the store in a hurry. She doesn't even bother to take the box back. 

The bell bangs on the door, and Rome watches the customer disappear before dropping his head down onto the counter behind the box of vinyl. It hurts a little when his forehead hits the wood, but it's nothing compared to the headache he feels blooming. He stays like this for what feels like seconds. His eyes are shut while he listens to the soft tapping of the cymbal and comforting saxophone of his favorite doom jazz group playing over the speakers. 

It’s peaceful, like he’s lying on his bed with his record playing in the corner. Maybe Miles isn’t home, and there’s no class in the morning. 

“Rome?”

He startles at the sound of his name, his attention dragged sharply back to the present. Shit, he’s still at work.

When Rome lifts his head, Van is watching him on the other side of the desk. “You okay?” He asks, voice laced with concern. “Are your customers always like that?”

“Nah, she was just some crazy lady,” Rome answers without thinking to make his voice rough. He grabs the box of records and moves it to the counter behind him next to some other orders he needs to put out. Though he would never admit it out loud, Rome felt a bit tense from the interaction, especially considering he swears she’s a drug addict. There’s nothing like almost getting smacked or punched over twenty dollars. It’s not as if he could fight back with her being a woman and all. “So what brought you in today?” He finally asks as he turns back to Van.

Van’s smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle just a bit. “To see you.” The answer comes quick, easy and unthinking as if he didn’t consider it at all. 

Rome barely hears him for the thunder of his heart pounding in his chest. What the fuck, he thinks then realizes he said it out loud when Van laughs bright, tipping his head back. 

“I’m kidding. Maybe,” Van says. “You said I can’t just loiter here, remember? I actually wanted to buy a new record for a friend.”

He lets out a huff at Van. “Do you actually know the artist this time?” Rome asks, speaking with as much mocking slowness as he can muster.   
  
Van nods his head and reaches into his back pocket to pull out his phone. It’s a newer model iPhone, and Rome can’t help but judge. His job must pay him a decent amount of money, or his family is well off. “I actually wrote it down,” He laughs as his fingers scroll on the screen, but Rome can’t see what it is, even when he shamelessly tries to sneak a peek by leaning across the counter. “The Cure.”   
  
For the second time today, Rome wants to choke a customer. “You really had to write down The Cure? Seriously, how sheltered were you growing up?” He asks in disbelief, shifting away from Van to put more distance between him and the desk.   
  
“I don’t know. My mom listened to talk radio most of the time.” Van shrugs his shoulders and turns the phone so Rome can see the “[Disintegration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BMOlZtpANa0)” album cover on the screen.

“But what about your sister? She’s into decent music, right? Didn’t you learn from her?” Rome asks as exits from behind the counter. He covers the distance to the display of records labeled “C” under rock/pop and stops to lean against the waist-high display, fixing Van with a glare “Or what your friends? Do you have friends.”

Van follows him in no time before stopping right beside him, staring at the records as Rome flips through them. “Yeah, I have friends. But I’m usually busy with work. My friends and coworkers  _ have  _ tried, but I don’t get a lot of time to sit down and listen,” He explains. “That’s why I got a record player so I have to force myself.”   
  


Rome doesn’t point out obvious that Van seems to find enough time to visit the store. He curls his fingers around the edge of the vinyl to pull it out and lay it on top of the others. “This is the one,” He declares.

“Do you like this band?” Van asks as he grabs the record and holds it out in front of him. 

From the way Van’s head is tipped down, Rome can see the dark of the other’s lashes, the hint of pink at his lips; then Rome snaps his head to stare at the wall before Van can catch him staring. “Yeah, they’re pretty good. Even though they’re from the 80s, they don’t sound dated. But I don’t know if you’d like it though cause they play a mix of goth rock and new wave.” Rome looks back at Van who’s holding the record at his hip and watching him with his eyes soft and his smile ever-present. “Then again, they were on the radio, so maybe you’d like the hits.”

He’s fully expecting Van to by offended by his joke like most people, but Van keeps his smile. “Maybe. Is that why you like them? Cause you don’t strike me as a ‘hits’ guy,” He laughs, and Rome can’t fight back the tension of a smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth.

Rome snorts amusement. “Hits guy,” He mutters to himself with the shake of his head. His feet are moving away from the display, and Van’s gaze follows Rome’s face as he steps past. Stepping as far to the left as he can in the narrow aisle, Rome makes sure he never brushes the other and looks away from him. “Definitely not a  _ hits guy.  _ I mean, this album is a pop album in a way, but it’s a pop album with depth and scope. I've yet to hear in any modern pop album that has one this one does. It takes the hopelessness depression of their early 80s work and matches it with their insanely catchy melodies from the mid-80s stuff. One of the great British albums. A stone-cold classic.”

After ranting for what felt like an hour, with his hands flailing in the air and everything, Rome makes his back behind the counter. Feeling the familiar discomfort of self-consciousness along his spine, he fiddles with a cassette on the counter in an effort to look busy. 

When he glances up, Van is approaching with the vinyl in his hand and the other in his pocket, almost effortlessly cool. It irritates him how the other hasn’t spoken yet. “Just gonna’ let me talk your ear off? Say something, dammit,” He snaps.

“I was just listening. I like hearing you talk about what you’re passionate about,” Van informs him as he sets the vinyl on the counter with gentle hands. 

Rome’s gaze slides to the counter, eyes widening in response to the sudden pressure in his chest. It makes his movements jerkier than usual when he reaches for the mouse of the computer, and he doesn’t speak until he can muster, “Only cause you have nothing to add,” with the quick bite of an insult with some of his usual tone back in his voice.

There’s silence, drawn so long he finally looks up. Van is still smiling but it’s faint. It doesn’t make sense that his smile should send a shudder down Rome’s spine. He’s just starting to frown in frustration when Van says, “I’m working on it?” Then Van laughs, and Rome can feel himself relax.

“Okay,” Rome deadpans. “I’m going to pretend I believe you.” Even that doesn’t get him any sign of aggression from Van, just another stupidly bright smile, and that’s when Rome looks away to ring up the vinyl with more violence than the keyboard deserves.

They both move through the motions of checking out in silence. It’s the first time since Van woke him up from his two-second nap that Rome notices the music stopped playing. He makes a mental note to flip it over when Van leaves.

He straightens as Van comes in closer, reaches out to take the paper bag holding the vinyl from Rome’s hands. Their fingers brush for just a moment, a tiny bit of skin on skin that has Rome pulling away and watching Van’s reaction. But the other acts like nothing happened, staring up at Rome as if he’s waiting for something.

“You said the album is for your friend, right?” Rome asks to fill the silence. He’s usually nowhere near this awkward, but it seems like Van always throws him into a different dimension every time they meet. It’s frustrating.

“Yeah,” Van answers, and unlike Rome’s previous interactions with him, there’s no explanation. Rome can’t help but take the bait and pick on the other, find out why he’s being so secretive. 

  
  
“Like a  _ girlfriend _ ?” Rome teases and presses his hand on the counter to hold his weight as he leans over it with a grin. He flashes his teeth in a minimal approximation of a smile.

Van’s mouth curves into a grin that still, even now, shows none of the annoyance Rome knows he deserves. “Nope,” and he’s moving, stepping in so close to the counter that Rome leans back reflexively. “Why would I have a girlfriend when I asked you on a date a few weeks ago?” Rome’s still trying to catch his balance, pulling his elbow off the counter, when a hand grabs at him, fingers wrapping around his arm to catch his weight.

Rome can feel his heart skid out on a beat when he looks up to meet the shadows of Rome’s stare and lopsided smile. This is the second time they’ve touched today. “I’m only interested in you right now,” Van drawls as he leans in closer while Rome stands still for him. 

Rome can feel himself going crimson. This is what he gets for trying to be clever and funny. “Let go,” He demands, but the words go so soft in his throat. He’s sure he’ll get himself some kind of comment, maybe the other will tease him. But Van doesn’t raise an eyebrow or laugh, just loosens the hold on his arm so that Rome can pull free and back away.

He rubs at his arm for a moment—despite the fact that he’s wearing his work sweatshirt so the other never really touched him in the first place—and sends a glare Van’s way. Opening his mouth, Rome intends to reprimand the other, feels a spark of anger fueled by self-consciousness, when he hears the bell chime again. He watches a group of university students enter the store, staring at Rome as they pass the counter and begin looking through the vinyl. It’s a good thing they didn’t walk in a few moments ago. He might have exploded from embarrassment.

“Don’t you need to head home?” Rome asks after clearing his throat. He returns to the computer and pretends to be working on orders, refusing to look at Van. 

There’s another pause, another few seconds of silence, and then:

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, I’ll see you next time, Rome,” He hears Van say. When Rome checks to see if the other is still there, he’s left to stare at Van walking out of the store. He watches the other’s stride, which is easy and fluid-like Van’s shed some weight in exchange for the vinyl in his hand. Unlike the first time, Van exits without saying goodbye or poking his head back in.

They’ve seen each other three times in the past month. Maybe it’s some sort of outlet for Rome’s anger. Every time he speaks to Van, he uses up all his irritation for the day. At least, that’s what Rome tells himself when he smiles as he organizes the box of vinyl from earlier to list it up for sale online. It’s a task he usually loathes due to the finicky precision required for the work, but he does the entire project without muttering angrily to himself once.

It’s the best explanation he can come up with, even if it doesn’t explain the adrenaline that keeps him warm and glowing for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the few who have shown interest. <3 And to silent readers?


	4. Chapter 4

There are times Van wishes he took more of a leadership role within the band. When Louis makes a decision he disagrees with and the rest of the rest follow, Van has to accept it and move on. Then there are days like today when he's happy he's not the leader. They'll be busy all day for hours upon hours with interviews, photoshoots, and videos to prepare for the next album release, and Louis has to carry most of it as the leader.

It’s ten in the morning, and they’ve already shot a promotion video for their appearance on a late-night show and two commercial photoshoots. Luckily, there’s only been one wardrobe change, but it means touch-ups every hour or so. After the makeup artists blotted them down and stylists fix their hair, the band gathers in front of a white wall on four stools. Across from them, a blond-haired young woman sits in a green dress holding a microphone, brushing out her hair and checking her face in a hand mirror. They’ve never met before, but she introduced herself as Ava before sitting down.

Cameramen work to set up the shot while the producer orders them to hurry. Standing next to them is Angus, who watches over the shoot as usual while simultaneously texting and checking emails. He’s dressed in a suit like usual and sunglasses, escaping the bright lights while everyone on camera has to suffer.

Van hears Louis clear his throat, and he glances to look at the guitarist beside him. Despite his over-sensitive tendencies, Louis makes a good leader. He’s selfless when it comes to pleasing fans and charismatic in front of the cameras -- even if his solos go on a little too long sometimes. 

Running a hand through his curls, Louis meets Van’s gaze and smiles as if reading his thoughts. “Tired of being in these suits already,” He whispers to him, pulling on the red jacket that matches the trousers he’s wearing. 

“I don’t mind it,” Van chuckles lowly. Though he lucked out among the four of them with just a t-shirt under his navy suit jacket, unlike the other’s uncomfortable button-up tops.

  
  


“At least you don’t almost blend into the wall,” Chance adds from where he sits on the other side of Van. He spreads his arms out wide behind Van and Owen next to him and smiles wide. “This grey is pretty close to the white background, right?” 

If it was Louis, Van might think he’s serious, but Chance is rarely mad, always the entertainer in the group. During concerts, he could be found strumming the bass while managing to make faces at the camera for fans and running around the stage. He’s pleasant to be around and turns tense situations into something more humorous. 

Laughing at himself, Chance begins to tip on the stool, and Owen reaches over to put a hand on the other’s shoulder to steady Chance and shakes his head silently. Out of everyone in the group, Owen is the easiest to be around. Despite his younger age at only twenty, he’s quiet and well-mannered but lights up on stage behind the drums.

  
  


“Excuse me. Is it time to start yet?” Van asks the woman across from them as Chance stirs restlessly beside him, picking at the mic clipped to his collar.

Ava’s typing on her phone so fast that Van almost doesn’t see her fingers move, even when she picks her head up to look at him. “We ready?” She asks loudly, canting her head in the direction of the producers.

One of the two producers next to a cameraman nods at Angus and speaks into her headset. “All quiet on the set,” She announces then gives a motion to the cameramen before giving a thumbs up. “Rolling.” Then Ava turns back to the band, grinning from ear to ear, and Van tries not to break eye contact to remain professional for the rest of the interview.

“Welcome to Fancy Mix Media. My name is Ava, and we are here today with The Nobles, a rising rock group from Champion Entertainment who are here to chat with us about their upcoming third album “There and Back,” coming out on October 14.” Ava introduces them, and Van smiles in response. He can see the others mirroring his expression in his peripheral as if the camera has switched them into professional mode. “Nice to meet you guys. Do you mind introducing yourself?”

Van turns his head to Louis, who usually speaks first as the leader. “Hey, we’re The Nobles. I’m Baron, the leader, guitarist, and main songwriter,” He says to the camera then returns to facing Ava.

When they became a band two years ago, the group decided to go by stage names to stand out among other artists and to go with their band name. Each of them agreed on a pseudonym that was another name for some kind of ruler or leader, thus leading to Louis choosing Baron though many fans know their real names, despite their attempt to conceal it after debuting.

After Louis introduces himself, Van knows it’s time for him to go. He smiles at the camera and says, “Hi, my name is Victor, and I’m the singer of the group.” 

“What’s up? I’m Czar, and I’m the bassist and other songwriter of the group,” Chance adds and gives the camera a thumbs up. Then lastly and somewhat quietly, Owen adds, “And I’m Rex, the drummer and youngest of the group.”

Ava nods along as they all introduce themselves. “Awesome, nice to meet you guys. Did you want to start by talking about the new album? Is there a concept behind it?” She asks them.

It’s a typical interview question, and Van watches Louis as the other begins to flow through the motions. “Sure, ‘There and Back’ is a concept album that tells the story of a child who is traveling with his family and gets into a car crash. After being knocked out, he wakes up a mysterious forest full of fantasy creatures, which is actually a world he dreamed up while in a coma.” Louis explains while the other members face him while they listen. “The album is mostly the child’s dreams as he lives out these famous fairy tales.”

“Wow, that sounds really in-depth and interesting,” Ava comments. She’s smiling and nodding as if she’s genuinely interested, and Van wants to assume that she is not just faking interest. After all, there's not many bands in the mainstream right now making music the way they do.

The album concept came from Louis and Chance’s brainstorm sessions while they were on break between touring and the new album. Owen and Van contributed to a few things, but the two of them generally worked on it by themselves. Van wasn’t skilled in music theory nor creation while Louis was self-taught and Chance, despite what one would think, earned his master’s degree in music.

"It’s a two-part album, so this is just the beginning,” Chance chimes in excitedly, waving his hands in front of him. “The second part will be another album, which will reveal the child’s future.”

Ava’s eyes seem to light up, and she grins wide. “Another album? That sounds like something that will happen in the future. Is this an exclusive scoop?” She asks.

Louis shakes his head and waves a finger at her. “No, no. We’re not giving away anything else,” He tells her/

Van knows how serious their leader can get when it comes to their music and doesn’t want viewers to get the wrong impression. “We want our fans to guess what’s next and look forward to it later,” Van adds and winks at the camera shamelessly. He knows fans love it when they act more playful from their tweets and letters, and it helps lighten the mood.

“Of course! Leave the fans guessing, sounds good,” Ava agrees, then glances down at a card in her hand with her company’s logo on the back. “Now the single is called ‘White Rabbit,’ which I’m guessing has something to do with Alice in Wonderland?”

This question is one the group prepared for in advance with the label. Angus usually submits a few questions to the media before an interview or segment so they have some talking points the band can answer easily. “Right, that’s one of the fairy tales we reference, and it’s sort of the beginning when the child wakes up. We just shot the music video last weekend,” Owen answers for the group. 

Ava nods attentively. “I can’t wait to see it! And what about this tour starting next month?” She asks, which is a bit unexpected. It wasn’t on the list Angus and the band agreed on.

Van watches Louis look to Angus, who nods his head and shrugs as if saying, “Sure, why not,” before Louis answers. “Uh, yeah. We’ll be going across the country from November until December, then continuing with a world tour from late January until March.”

Ava’s staring at him, nodding her head to let them continue, and just as Van is about to save Louis from his awkwardness, Chance jumps in. “Right! We haven’t toured in a year, so we can’t wait to see our fans.” 

“We hope you stop here!” Ava replies then flips through the cards in her hands. “Next, we’d like to play a game.”

* * *

The game portion of the interview is over quickly. Van doesn’t track the time passing but guesses they’ve wasted another hour from preparation to goodbyes. After checking with Angus, he lets the group know the next item on the schedule is a photoshoot with a brand of amps they’re endorsing for the tour

It’s nothing out of the ordinary for them, so there’s nothing much to do except wait for the amp company to arrive and setup. Van and the rest of the band retreat into the dressing room where the makeup artists and stylists are resting. Owen and Chance slump over on a small couch against the wall while Van and Louis sit at the chairs in front of the vanities. 

A few minutes pass in silence while Van closes his eyes and tips his head back until Angus speaks. “Okay, guys. We got an hour before Peavey shows up, maybe a half-hour for setup. The catering should be here shortly, so just sit tight and have some lunch,” He announces.

  
  


This is music to Van’s ears, but instead of being excited to eat, he suddenly has other plans. “What if we want to leave real quick and come back?” He asks, now staring at Angus, who’s typing on his phone.

“It’s from your favorite sushi place,” Angus replies without looking up.

“It’s not about food. I want to go run an errand real quick,” Van explains. He’s hoping his request doesn’t alarm the others, but Louis and Chance are already looking at him with interest.

Angus sighs. “We really don’t need fans seeing you guys out on the street and figuring things out, considering you’re pretty dressed up.”

Van is stubborn and continues to press. “But there shouldn’t be any fans outside since there weren’t any when we showed up. Didn’t you say you caught the schedule leaker?”

“Yes, but--” Angus is in the middle of a retort when Louis interrupts, “Are you going to visit that record store again? Didn’t you go last week?”

  
  


“What record store?” Chance chirps, beaming delight, and elbowing Owen’s side while the other tries to nap.

Van turns his head to stare at Louis in the seat adjacent to him with wide eyes. “Louis, you really are a loudmouth, huh?” He asks, but his tone isn’t angry. He figures they’d find out eventually anyway. If there’s any part of him annoyed, it’s because he’s worried about Rome.

Louis doesn’t meet his eyes, but Van can see the way the other’s mouth twists into a smirk as he plays with his phone. “I haven’t told them yet,” He says airily. 

“Told us what?” Chance’s voice is louder now. He’s leaning forward when Van looks at him while Owen has one eye open in his direction. “There shouldn’t be secrets between us, right?”

Van has every intention of avoiding the subject and says nothing, looking around the room like he’s not listening. “Van has a crush on the store clerk,” Louis blurts, and Van snaps his gaze to the grinning guitarist.

Chance gasps an overdramatic inhale and lifts a hand to his chest. “No way. How long have you been hiding this from us, Van?” To Chance’s left, Owen’s no longer feigning sleep and staring directly at Van with wide eyes.

“It’s been about a month or so,” Louis answers for him then swivels his chair to stare at Van. “Right?” 

Van doesn’t know what expression he makes. He’s slightly irritated with Louis sharing so much of his private life. Even though they’re close bandmates, he keeps his love life mostly private from all of them. He’s deciding how to reply when Chance beats him to it.

“Although I am _offended_ ,” Chance starts as Owen rolls his eyes at him. “I’m mostly shocked. When’s the last time you even dated someone? It’s been a _while_.”

Maybe a year and a half since I’ve dated,” Van admits. “You know how I am.”

Louis snorts. “You’re very particular,” He teases, and Van lets out a sigh.

It’s true. Not only has it been difficult for Van to find a partner as a member of The Nobles- hard to trust people when you’re a celebrity- but he’s always been picky when it comes to dating. It just so happens that Rome fits his tastes almost perfectly. Feeling protective of the innocent crush, Van quickly adds, “But we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

Chance stares at him in disbelief. “Why not?”

“He rejected me,” Van answers immediately before the others have time to speculate things.

“What?!” Chance and Louis say in unison.

All Van can manage is an “Mm” that sounds as much like embarrassment as agreement.

“Then why are you still going to see him?” Chance asks with all the ignorance of a man whose relationships usually consist of one night in a hotel room.

“I think he needs to warm up to me,” Van offers as an explanation, smiling at the thought of it.

Louis huffs a sound that might be a laugh were it any louder. “When I went with you to the store like a month ago, he asked a customer if they were ‘retarded’ for asking if the store carried Lady Gaga,” He recalls. “Sounds like he needs to ‘warm up’ to everyone.”

Van’s attention flickers to Louis and the determined smirk the other is holding at his lips. He knows the other is trying to embarrass him, but Van doesn’t fall for it and smiles back. “That was a bit harsh, yeah. But I kinda like that about him though. Just saying whatever he wants-- it’s refreshing,” Van says honestly.

“And what he likes isn’t you then?” Louis snaps as if he was waiting to reply.

“Maybe not,” Van snaps back, but it’s half a laugh.

They lapse into silence for a moment, and Van’s thankful for Owen and Chance once again. It doesn’t take long before Chance is clearing his throat and standing up from the couch. “Hey, why don’t I go meet him? Then I can judge whether he’s really worthy of you or not,” Chance suggests with a wink.

Van considers the possible interactions between Rome and Chance for a few seconds before pushing himself out of the seat and grabbing his phone. “Let’s do it,” He declares with a grin.

“No,” Angus orders from where he’s still standing near the door, finally looking up from his phone. Van forgot he was even still in the room.

Chance frowns then strides over to Van, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Come on, Angus. We’ll be back quick. It’s close, right?” He whines.

Though Van’s already one step ahead of Chance in trying to convince Angus. As soon as Angus denied them, Van was opening the Uber app on his phone. It pops up with an estimated time to the address he shamelessly saved, and Van turns the screen to Angus. “If I order an uber right now, it will take us like five minutes to get there.”

Angus groans. Van can see him considering it from the way he tips his head back to gaze frustration up to the ceiling. Then, “ _Fine_. But if there are any fans outside, you better come back inside. And wear a hat or something.”

Chance starts grinning before Angus even finishes his sentence, squeezing Van’s shoulder and pushing him toward the door. They’re almost out of the room when Louis’s voice stops them. “Can I go too?” Van hears the other ask in a soft voice, and when he glances over his shoulder, Louis is slouching in his seat with a frown. 

His pout is almost enough for Van to cave in and invite Louis. But before Van can even reply, Chance looks over his shoulder and says, “Didn’t you say yesterday you were the most popular? We can’t make a scene.” 

The tone of his voice is teasing, and before Van looks away, he sees the way Louis is shaking his head and lips quirking up into a smile

* * *

Van is smiling before he even opens the door to the record shop the next day. He’s been smiling since he left the studio with Chance. Luckily, there were no fans, so they caught the Uber easily and made it to the other side of town in a few short minutes. Most of the ride was Chance rubbing his shoulders and whispering, “You got this, dude” despite Van telling him he doesn’t need the encouragement. But it was funny. It’s not like he plans to say more than he did last visit. Unless, by some miracle, Rome shows more interest.

He’s been trying to be realistic. Rome will probably wonder why he’s back in the store less than a week later, but he plans to act casual, even convinced Chance to let the Uber driver drop them off a block away. He’s still got his suit jacket on because the autumn air is still relatively chilly, but Chance has already ripped his off, left it back at the studio. He hopes they don’t look like they’ve just walked off a studio set in suits, but the light makeup won’t help his case if it hasn’t sweat off by now. This is all assuming that Rome will even be there. Van’s already warned Chance this might be a pointless trip since the other usually works nights.

Surprisingly, Rome is behind the counter when they walk through the door. Instead of wearing his signature store-branded hoodie, he has it draped on a stool behind him and wearing a red Led Zepplin shirt, likely vintage. And unlike the past few times, there’s a lanyard with “Rome” written on a name tag attached to it. But Rome can’t stop staring at the other’s exposed arms, wondering if this really was the first time he’s seen them. Based off Rome’s personality, Van thought he’d have tattoos for some reason. Instead, he’s completely bare, only his warm-toned yet pale skin. It’s weird how attractive he finds this detail.

  
  


Rome has the register open, is flipping through the change while a middle-aged male with a bag in his hand waits on the other side of the counter in front of another customer. He’s in the middle of a transaction, muttering occasional things to the man.

When Rome looks up from the drawer, he doesn’t look at all surprised to see Van walking through the doorway. But after Chance trails in after Van, Rome’s expression flickers with an unreadable emotion; then he’s back to talking with the customer.

“He’s with someone. Let’s look around,” Van whispers to Champ at his side, making his way further inside the store.

Champ follows him until they’re a good distance from the counter and begins flipping through random records in an attempt to look busy. “That’s him then? What’s his name?” He says quietly, which gets him a nod from Van. “He looks harmless, actually kinda young to be honest.”

Van can’t hold back a chuckle. “His name is Rome, and his bark is worse than his bite.” Then, quickly, “He’s nineteen. Remember, I’m only twenty-two.” In their band, Louis is the oldest at twenty-four, Champ at twenty-three, and Owen, the youngest at twenty-one.

“Just short then,” Champ laughs. “I can’t believe he doesn’t recognize you. You really think he doesn’t know?”

He knows what Champ means. Their band has been gaining fame over the last two years, selling out arenas and millions of records. But Van was certain from the moment they spoke that there’s no way Rome knows. “Nope. He’s not into the music we play...I think. Anyway, it’s not like he needs to know to date me,” He explains.

Champ takes out a record and pretends to look at it. “I don’t know,” He says in a sing-song voice. “You’ll have to tell him eventually if you’re serious about him.”

Van sighs instead of answering.

If Rome were any other potential partner, Van would agree with Champ. But, as it stands, he can’t think of a reasonable way to approach the subject with Rome when considering the other has shown his disdain for mainstream media. Plus, it wasn’t as if they were even dating, hardly even friends.

“Just invite him to a show,” Champ adds and elbows Van into the side.

  
  


There’s a bark of laughter threatening Van’s chest. “I’m afraid he might burn the tickets,” He tells Champ who lets out a loud laugh. Van wonders if they’re being too loud, and when he peeks at the counter, Rome’s looking at them, his expression in a familiar glare. 

With the customers now gone and out of the store, Van tugs on Chance’s arm before letting go and heading to the front of the shop. “Back again already?” Rome asks once he reaches the counter, and once Chance approaches, Rome’s attention wavers to him instead. “And with someone else to annoy me?”

Van’s gaze drops without his intention, lingers at the exposed skin of the other’s arms before he can recollect himself and look back at Rome’s face. “Yeah, I bought him that Cure album for his birthday,” He says.

Rome rolls his eyes. “It’s _The_ Cure, not Cure,” he snaps then turns to face Champ behind him. “You have some decent taste then, huh? What’s wrong with this guy?” He’s pointing at Van now. “Make him listen to some of your shit. And that’s _assuming_ the rest of your taste isn’t trash.”

Chance moves to stand closer to the counter next to Van and flashes a grin. “I’ll have you know my taste is amazing. But Van here won’t listen to anything we send him,” He declares then swings his arm around Van’s shoulder. 

Rome’s eyes widen and catch on Chance’s arm; then the other blinks, his expression changing so fast Rome barely has time to see it at all. “How do you two know each other?” 

He sounds genuinely curious, so Van has no problem answering with a simple, “We work together. This is our lunch actually.”

“Is that why you’re dressed like used car salesmen?” Rome’s voice is mocking, swinging high and teasing at the edges. He’s giving them a rare smile that makes Van’s heart feel like it’s trying to rattle free of its cage. “Tell me you don’t actually sell cars.”

“No, we work for Champion Entertainment,” Van offers in a chuckle and wiggles his way out from under Chance’s arm. He’s hesitant to offer this information up for Rome but figures it’s a big enough company. There’s no way Rome would immediately assume they’re artists.

There’s a sound, a bang as Rome smacks the table with his hand then leans in to hover over the counter. “Christ. That explains a lot,” Rome growls then narrows his eyes while looking between them. “How does it feel to sell contracts for the devil?”

Chance’s laugh is low at his side. “Aren’t you being a little dramatic?” 

Van too thinks Rome is being dramatic but doesn’t want to further annoy him, judging by Rome’s sneer from Chance’s words. “We work in talent though, not sales,” Van offers in any attempt to save his reputation.

Rome raises a shoulder in an off-hand shrug. “I see. They’re already soulless by then. No sense in saving them I guess,” He replies in a cynical tone and reaches over to slide a stack of CDs on the counter to sit in front of him as if he’s already done with the conversation.

“Is working for Champion really that bad?” It’s meant as a taunt. He can hear the laugh under Chance’s words to prove he’s just teasing.

It earns them a glare from Rome anyway. He clears his throat, folds his arms over his chest like he’s trying to create a defensive wall, and leans against the counter. “Okay,” He starts then takes a breath. “First off, music labels have been all bought out over the past years and consolidated into three major labels, including yours. So they finance and distribute 80% of the music worldwide, creating what is essentially a monopoly or oligopoly, if you want to get specific. And all these labels - their interest is the bottom line. Making money or using ‘star power’ to gain financial sponsors. It’s not in their interest to make good music. Their interest is to make music that satisfies the masses and exploit it. The easier the market appeal of an artist, the easier it is to market. And don’t even get me started about how little they pay the artists.”

For a minute, there’s quiet; all Van can hear is the faint sound of what sounds like old school hip hop beats coming from the speakers in the store. He stares at Rome until the other looks his way, expecting the irritated scowl Rome gives him. Van meets it with the most sincere smile he can muster, holds the expression while Rome’s forehead creases.

There’s a strange warmth somewhere from in his chest. He must be a masochist for finding Rome so attractive at this moment.

“Is that it?” Chance breaks the silence, and Rome’s gaze cuts away from Van to him. 

_“Is that it?_ Are you kidding me? Doesn’t that disgust you?” Rome fires back.

“But the artist gets tons of promotions and marketing that they couldn’t do otherwise.”

Rome folds his arms over his chest like he’s trying to create a defensive wall. “Really? Cause there’s plenty of artists who have before,” He argues, then his sneer flickers away, lips part on a sigh that’s a little bit resignation and expectation. “I’m done with this conversation. Buy something or leave.”

He turns his back to them and begins moving vinyl around that’s in a stack behind the counter. With Rome’s back turned, Van can examine the other’s posture, can see the way his shoulders tense as he moves. The subject clearly rattled his nerves. Turning to Chance, Van motions with his head toward the other side of the store, mouthing “go away.”

Chance gives him a thumbs up. “Uh, I came in for...that album, so I’ll go get it. Be right back,” He says in a volume that’s loud enough for Rome to hear before fleeing across the store.

Van crosses the distance to the counter until he’s practically up against it. “Are you okay?”

Rome twists around to face him and raises a brow at his question. There’s an album in his hand, and he sets it down on the counter without looking away from Van. “What? Yeah, I'm fine. Jesus. Is this Dr. Phil hour?” He answers, biting off the words.

“Don’t mind Chance. Him and my other coworker like to pick on people, especially when they dislike something,” Van says with a smile, ignoring Rome’s claims that he’s not bothered.

“Aren’t you mad I went off on him?” Rome shoots back, and that’s not quite what Van expected him to say. “Not that he doesn’t deserve it...But I’m not exactly a ray of fucking sunshine so this can’t be fun for you to bring your coworker here.”

Rome’s avoiding his gaze and glancing around the store, his mouth in a straight line. It’s almost as if he genuinely feels bad for reprimanding Chance.

“Like I said. He’s not mad. Chance doesn’t get mad, _usually_ ,” Van tells Rome as he feels the sudden rush of protectiveness sidestepping the boundaries he set for today. “Rome, you know I like you, right?” 

Rome’s eyes lock on him immediately; whatever he was looking at is entirely forgotten for the wide-eyed stare he gives Van. It’s almost the same expression as the first time Van asked him out, which is concerning because he’s implied his intentions to Rome multiple times since then.

Van decides to make his point known and stretches out to brush his fingertips against the name tag hanging from Rome’s neck. From this close, he can see the motion of Rome’s swallow at the contact, can see the tiny movement of Rome’s shoulder as he flinches when Van closes his fingers around the plastic. His mouth is parted, uncommonly soft, pupils blown so wide they look nearly black.

“I like you, and I know you’re not ‘a ray of fucking sunshine.’ I like hearing what you have to say. I don’t care when you rant or complain. I can tell you don’t hate my employer because you think we’re assholes but because you care about the artists and the music. It means you’re passionate and care deeply about something enough to fight,” Van tells him with a frown, without looking away from Rome’s darting eyes. Then he smiles. “But I prefer hearing about something you _do_ like.”

From this close, he can hear the sound as Rome lets out a breath before the other reaches up to dig his fingers into Van’s, forcing his hold around the lanyard to loosen. When Rome leans back and away from his grasp, Van catches momentary crimson appear on others cheeks before Rome turns to the computer.

Soft typing fills the silence, another pause, and then the sound stops. “No one’s ever liked that about me before.” It’s rough, low, so quiet he’s not sure if Rome said it at all.

He fights for the right words and the right tone. ”I do,” Van finally manages with a smile that Rome can’t see with his back to him. “After all, if you really hated me coming in here, wouldn’t you just ignore me?.”

“Fuck off,” Rome growls as he turns to face him, and then, in a rush: “You don’t know me that well.”

Van wants to say something to this, point out that he’s been trying to get to know Rome, that he keeps coming back here with some hope the other will let him in, but Chance appears at his side with a record in his hand before he can say anything. “Can I buy this LP? Or should I come back?” Chance asks, wiggling his brows.

Rome rolls his eyes. “No, you need to hurry the hell up and leave, so I can get work done,” He snaps as Chance hands him the album. As Rome turns it over to scan the barcode, his eyes sweep the cover. It says “[Swans](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6mWF1kmCo3U)” in red and white with a cartoon style rabbit. Of course, Van’s never heard of it before, but Rome must have because he mumbles, “Nice choice.”

It makes Chance beem, and the transaction speeds by in silence. Van’s attention is now on the time, checking his phone for messages or calls from Angus. They don’t have much time left, so he orders an Uber for them, which sends a five-minute warning to his phone. When Van looks up, Rome’s packing up Chance’s album in a bag and handing it to him.

“Well.” Rome clears his throat and stalks over to the computer, squinting at the screen. “Time to get out. Go back to work and burn in the hellfire.”

“Okay,” Van offers a smile, even though Rome isn’t looking at him and doesn’t see the expression. “I’ll see you later, Rome.”

Rome doesn’t say a word when Van moves away, grabbing Chance who follows silently. When Van glances back as he pulls the door open, Rome is still staring at the computer with every appearance of irritation written across his face.

Even if Rome was more irritable than usual and spent half of the visit lecturing Chance, Van still considers this day a victory. He’ll be remembering the look on Rome’s face when he grabbed his nametag and the hesitation he showed to pull away. 

If Rome is affected by any part of Van’s feelings, Van will wait as long as the other needs before he admits it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rome never thought he could be so unsettled by Van’s lack of presence in the record store."

The television is on when Rome opens the door to his apartment.

Even though it's ten o'clock at night, this isn't that unusual. Miles likes to leave the background of a screen flickering and a low murmur of sound on for most of what he does. Rome privately blames the distraction for the Mile’s habitually unfinished homework, but it doesn't make a difference to him. Rome can study in his bedroom with his headphones on or late at night when Miles falls asleep. The only time his roommate's habit has become an inconvenience is when Rome is tired of wearing headphones and wants to play his music as loud as he can stand it.

Though MIles isn't the only obstacle. Their neighbors don't hesitate about calling the landlord with a noise complaint. In Rome's defense, he's only received two warnings after living in this building since last summer. He took note of the neighbor's schedule and tried to work around it, only playing his music on full blast when they weren't home.

Tonight, the sound from Miles's TV is turned up loud, clear enough that Rome can make it out while he's kicking his converse free and shrugging off his hoodie in the entryway. By the time he's rounding the corner through the kitchen and into the living room, he knows what he'll find well before he actually sees it.

"Are you watching baseball again--" He starts, ready to offer some grumble of protest for his least favorite of Miles's options for the television, and then he sees two heads turning to look at him instead of one.

"Hey, Rome," Miles greets from where he's slumped into the couch next to Quinn, whose face light's up.

"You're home!" She beams and waves him over with her hand in the air.

"Yeah, didn't know you'd be here too," Rome growls, uncomfortably off-balance by the addition of another person to what he had thought was a dialogue between just two. "You would have heard me come in if that shit wasn’t so loud."

"Don't we usually hang out on Friday nights?" Quinn laughs, clearly unfazed by Rome's attitude. "I know we usually meet at my place or in the quad, but I was at work before this, so your place was closer. We could go back to my apartment like usual if you want?"

Rome huffs a not-quite-answer. "You're here already," he says as the closest thing to permission he can offer. "No point in leaving now."

"Thanks," Quinn replies, her expression falling soft on gratitude. "How was work? Any interesting customers?"

The subject change surprises Rome for a second, but he decides to roll with it. Why turn down an excuse to complain about his job? "Interesting customers?" Rome huffs. "More like  _ irritating _ . There's this guy who keeps coming in and bugging the shit outta' me. He has no idea who anyone is and constantly wants recommendations. Why the hell are you coming into a music store, moron? Then, on Tuesday, he came in with his coworker - I swear to God  _ just  _ to annoy me - and I found out he works for some blood-sucking record label. So I obviously let him and his coworker have it. But then the dude tells me he doesn’t care that I bitched them out. What the fuck?" 

Rome's ranting, rather than responding to Quinn, as he saunters from one side of the apartment to the living room, waving his hands around. "I swear he's a masochist or something. I mean, why the fuck would you come back after being rejected?"

It's not until Quinn's flashes a grin, eyes wide and bright that Rome parses the inadvertent confession his words carried. Even Miles is staring at him, his gaze torn from the television. 

"Being rejected? Did he ask you out? Oh my God," Quinn says with her usual unassailable cheer. She leans out over the back of the couch, reaching to touch the very tips of her fingers against Rome's sleeve. 

He snatches his arm away. "I told you he’s a moron," Rome snaps. "I hardly know the guy, and he asks me out so I rejected him." He tosses his hair back from his face and looks away from the curious eyes watching him. "I'm gonna' get a glass of water."

The kitchen isn't exactly out of sight from the living room. It's an open floor plan, but the hanging cabinets hide his face when he rounds the corner. "Why did you reject him?" Quinn yells louder than what's probably necessary. He can hear her laughter, followed by a low chuckle and murmur from MIles.

Rome rolls his eyes and downs a glass of water before refilling it. He stares at the full cup for a few seconds, thinking about what to say now that they know. The water doesn't make him feel any better, but at least it gives him a moment to let the warmth ease from his cheeks.

It's not like he's been purposefully hiding it. Van was an annoyance more than anything. There was nothing between them to tell. He swallows the rest in a rush and sets the glass back in the sink before he heads back to the living room. 

"If I tell you, can we drop it?" Rome asks as he steps in front of the couch to cut Miles and Quinn’s view of the screen. 

  
  


"Ha," Quinn laughs. "Maybe, I want to hear what happened first," as she shifts to sit more upright and slide against the far side of the couch. It's big enough to fit three people, but it's too tight for Rome.

Wanting more personal space, Rome ignores Quinn's attempt to beckon him over, and he drops down onto the floor into a cross-legged position. "Fine," Rome gives in then pauses for a moment as Miles mutes the TV. "He came in a few weeks ago, asking about music. His dumbass didn't even know who Miles Davis was. Then he asked me out, randomly, okay? I didn't give him any hints that I was interested. I rejected him, like I said. And I thought that was it. And then he came back a few more times, including Tuesday That's when I found out he works for that shit company Champ-"

"Champion Entertainment? The Royals are on that label!" Quinn interrupts with a smile. 

"More like Satan's Entertainment," Rome corrects, laughing at his own joke, despite the glare Quinn's sending his way. "See what I mean though? I knew rejecting him was right. How could I date someone who works there? I fucking hate that company. They ruin perfectly good bands and produce shit music."

Quinn's forehead creases, her head cants just slightly to the side. "You're being a bit dramatic," She comments.

"Like usual," Miles speaks for what might be the second time since Rome returned home.

Rome's jaw sets. "I'm not being dramatic. You know how I feel about-" 

"Blood-sucking corporations with pig-headed CEOs and brain-washed employees. Yes, we've heard the speech before, Rome," Quinn cuts him off, and Rome snaps his mouth shut to glare at her. "What else do you know about him? Because, right now, that's a pretty dumb reason to reject a guy, no matter what you say."

"He's twenty-two, and his name is Van," Rome answers, but it's softer than he wanted to sound.

"Van? That's cute!" Quinn says, sounding far more cheerful than a moment ago when she was reprimanding him. Rome cringes out of instinct and leans back with his palms to the carpet under him. "What's he like?"

Rome hesitates but decides to answer honestly. He doesn't want her to do any social media digging or cyberstalking. "I don't know him that well. I told you. He just asks me questions about what I like. It's irritating."

"He's just trying to get to know you," Quinn shoots back.

"He freaks me out! He never stops smiling, and he's constantly happy. It's too much."

Quinn blinks as if Rome just said Van was a ghost who came back to life. "And that's bad, why? Most people are decently happy most of the time. You're the only one who's always sour," She laughs. Then under her breath, leaning into Miles, "Maybe Van's ugly."

"He's not ugly," Rome corrects her as he straightens, frowning in an attempt to counteract the flush that's burning his face. When she beams at him, he shakes his head. "But I'm still not interested."

Miles hums and twirls the remote around in his hand. "Why not go for the free food?" He suggests.

Rome reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose and close his eyes in annoyance. "I thought we were dropping this if I told you about him.”

"No way," Quinn laughs without any indication of dampened spirits. "We never get this kind of dirt on you."

He makes a sound of irritation. Quinn is like a train barreling through his attempt to change the subject. "Get it over with then. What else do you wanna' say so we can move on and play cards?" He asks in defeat. 

Quinn's smile pulls wider. "Okay, we'll stop torturing you. I just want you to think about it, Rome. Miles says he’s never seen you flirt with you since he's known you, let alone go on a date. Just give the guy a chance," She tells him, and Miles nods along as if he's okay with her speaking for him.

Rome doesn't answer for a moment. He never thought of it before. When he rejected Van, it was on instinct. Since then, Van's implied a few times that he's still interested, but Rome didn't think he was serious until this week when the other made it clear. The memory still made his cheeks burn. Van was reasonably attractive. Rome's not blind. What he says and does, it affects him, much to his annoyance.

But he couldn't consider accepting Van, not knowing who he’s employed by. Plus, he's already made up his mind that they wouldn't work out because they have nothing in common. Inexperienced in dating, Rome always thought that's what made a good relationship. Although Van does seem open to his taste, which isn't something he generally experiences. 

It's refreshing, he decides. It stalls his thoughts and leaves him tense. There's no one to yell at here, nothing but the weight of the unknown future bearing down on him, so Rome takes a breath. "Fine, I  _ might  _ give him a chance," He groans, and before he's even finished talking, Quinn begins clapping while Miles smiles smugly. Rome’s hand snaps out to point his finger at them, sneering in annoyance. "Just wait until it's one of you, fuckers."

If they were anyone else, Rome would be stepping over the line, but his friends just laugh harder then change the subject, talking about what game they’d play tonight and who’s going to order the pizza.

Rome wonders if they know how grateful he is for their friendship. Maybe one day he'll tell them, if hell freezes over.

* * *

Rome never thought he could be so unsettled by Van’s lack of presence in the record store.

It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care that it’s been a week since he’s seen the other. He doesn’t care that apparently the other man’s interest in him may be waning or that he might never come back. Maybe this way Rome can have some peace in his life again, won’t have to deal with those sunshiney smiles or that chime-like laugh. His life can go back to normal, back to the way it was before.

It doesn’t make sense that he can’t think about anything else. He’s so distracted that he spends the day stocking so he won’t be tempted to stare at the door like he’s waiting for Van to walk through it.

It’s all Quinn’s fault, he decides halfway through his shift. If she never opened her mouth and got this stupid idea in his head, then Rome wouldn’t be letting Van’s inexplicable behavior get to him. But it does get to him, gets to him so much that he spends the last few minutes in an empty shop, staring at the clock.

Finally, the hour shifts over to ten, and the shop officially closes. After shutting down the computer and putting a few more albums away, Rome pulls his jacket on and lets out a sigh. He makes it to the door, pulls it open, and steps outside. He’s just turning to lock the shop when something catches his peripheral attention. At first, his heart races, expecting to be mugged, but Rome looks to see Van in his usual wool jacket and a baseball cap.

“Shit,” Rome says aloud, and then he has to duck his head as all the lingering tension in his chest seizes.

“Hey,” Van is saying as he approaches, his voice softer than Rome has heard it, and he’s holding out a white paper bag. “This is for you.” When Van opens the bag, Rome leans over to see a glazed donut inside with a few napkins.

He stares at the strange gift instead of Van's face because it seems safer. “Were you waiting outside all day just to give me this?”

“No,” Van laughs. Rome takes the bag from him and holds it at his side in a tight grip. “I got here a few minutes ago. I wanted to catch you when you left.”

“How did you know I’d be here? Why not come inside?” Rome snaps, and this isn’t the appropriate response but it’s all he can manage with an irrational burn of emotion at the back of his throat. Though he didn’t want to admit it, Van’s gift was touching.

“I saw you when I walked past earlier and decided not to bother you at work this time.” Rome slides his hand into the bag and pulls out the donut to take a small bite. It makes Van grin and steps so he’s an inch closer to Rome. “I saw you eating sweets one time before we talked, so this is my apology in case I overstepped last week.”

“God, you’re an idiot,” Rome growls and reaches out to grab the lapel of Van’s jacket. He just intends to shake Van and punctuate his frustration, but there’s no resistance when he pulls. Van submits entirely to the motion and leans in closer, so close Rome has to jerk back to keep his mouth from crushing against the other’s. 

They’re still too close, even then. Rome can see the individual strands of Van’s dark lashes and the way Van’s gaze slides downward, unfocused as he looks at Rome’s lips. It’s only by reflex that makes Rome’s glance down to see the way Van’s mouth is half-parted. 

“Why do you always--” He says, but all the fire has gone out of him. He can’t remember what it was he was going to say because his heart is pounding unreasonably fast. Van swallows and then Rome’s blurting, “Get away from me,” his voice shaking more than it is sharp.

“Okay,” Van says, but he’s not moving away, staring at Rome’s lips, and Rome’s breathing is sticking weirdly in his chest. “You have to let go of my jacket first.”

Rome has to look down at his hand before he remembers what he’s doing and realizes he’s still holding onto Van. He snatches his hand away like it’s been burned, but Van lingers for a moment, close enough that Rome can feel the other’s breathing. He thinks Van might bridge the remaining gap between them, his chest tightens in anticipation.

But Van pulls away suddenly. “So,” Rome starts, clearing his throat like that help him gain composure over his thudding heart. “You still want to take me out on a date?”

Van’s smile is just as bright as every other time Rome has seen it, warm and inviting and just as overwhelming in the dim-lit street as it is in the bright store. “Absolutely, I do.”

“Okay.” Rome ducks his head, closing the bag after only one bite. “Well. Fine.” He coughs, drags irritation back into his tone. “We can’t go somewhere now, obviously. It’s too late, and I have class in the morning.” 

“What about tomorrow? At lunch? After your class?” Van suggests.

He hesitates, not sure if he should look for an excuse to back out or not. “I guess,” Rome finally agrees, feeling his face flush from the way Van looks at him with his dumb grin. “Just fucking - Give me your number. Dammit.”

Nothing he said is funny, but it makes Van laugh for some reason. He’s reaching into his coat and prying his phone from the pockets while Rome squirms. They spend the next few minutes calling and saving each other’s numbers until Rome feels the need to break the silence. “I should probably head home then,” Rome says.   
  


Van is watching him, his eyes shining and his mouth soft. It looks like all his focus is fixed to the other, as if he has nothing else he’d rather look at. It’s disconcerting to be considered with such focus. Rome can feel his shoulders hunch under the other’s attention.

“Of course,” Van agrees. “Do you usually take the bus home or?”

  
  
“Yeah, it’ll stop down the road in a few minutes,” Rome informs him. He looks away from Van’s gaze on him strides down the sidewalk, taking the lead without giving Van any warning at all.

It’s childishly satisfying to have a moment to himself while Van realizes he’s moving, but there’s none of the frustration or anger that Rome half-wishes to see in the other’s reaction. There’s just the sound of that damn laugh from behind him as Van jogs up to catch him up. “I’ll wait with you,” He tells Rome. “It’s pretty late out anyway.”

Rome rolls his eyes. “I’m not helpless,” He informs the other as Van falls into pace with his stride.

“Never said you were,” Van says, and when Rome glances at him, the other is staring at him still.

He looks away to check the time and any messages on his phone while they head to a glass-covered bus stop. Two older women are waiting with shopping bags on the bench inside, and Rome walks around to stand adjacent to the structure to give them more privacy. “I give it a minute or two. It’s pretty consistent,” Rome tells Van and puts his phone away.

When Rome looks up, Van’s cheeks are flushed with cold and faintly pink against the chill September air. “I’ll probably walk home,” Van says. “Or I guess I could call an Uber, or--” As he’s speaking, Van shifts slightly, and his fingers brush against Rome’s free hand. 

Rome hisses immediately. “Fuck, your hands are freezing,” He blurts to cut Van off mid-sentence. He’s grabbing at Van’s wrist with an impulse born too immediately to hold back. Van’s silent as Rome’s hand closes around his, and Rome grimaces at the painful chill radiating from the other’s skin. “How long were you  _ really  _ waiting for me outside?”

“When I said a few minutes, maybe I meant twenty,” Van chuckles, but Rome doesn’t even look at his face, instead examining the angle of Van’s fingers in his. He’s not even tugging at the pressure even as Rome pushes hard to win some fraction of warmth from the wind-chilled skin. A near-painful warmth fills his chest at Van’s trust in him.

He glances up to see Van smiling at him, but his eyes are dark and fixed on Rome’s face. “What’s wrong with you?” Rome starts then sees Van’s mouth tense into a frown. He eases back from his aggression. When he speaks again, it’s as sincere as he can make his voice without embarrassing himself. “Next time, don’t worry about bothering me. It’s just work.”

The frown is gone, replaced with a smile. “Next time?” Van twists his hand slightly until Rome lets go then slides his fingers into his coat pocket. 

Rome’s skin prickles with lost electricity. He struggles to find a response as his heart skids in his chest, so he settles for a defensive, “Fuck off” that only makes Van laugh.

There’s a low rumble of noise, and Rome steps to look past Van at the bus pulling up to the sidewalk. It makes a hissing noise as the door opens, and the two ladies begin walking up to it with their bags in tow. “I gotta’ go,” Rome tells Van, who nods his head with a smile, and before he can overthink it, “Text me tomorrow.”

Rome doesn’t wait for Van’s reaction and bolts toward the bus, still clutching the donut bag in his hand. He’s about to enter when Van calls out “Rome,” with the off-hand calm that makes Rome’s spine tense. He hesitates at the bus steps, glancing back to frown at Van still standing by the bus stop. “What is it?” He snaps.

“I can’t wait,” Van says, and Rome has no idea how to respond so he doesn’t. He walks up the stairs of the bus, door closing behind him, and takes a seat upfront. He can feel his face heat but knows it’s not from the warmth of the bus but embarrassment burning across his cheeks.

When the bus pulls away, Rome can’t help himself and peers out the window. Van’s waving at him as if he can see the other through the glass. His smile is as bright as Rome’s face feels. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Hope you are all well and staying safe. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rome left him a message last night after they exchanged numbers with a simple, 'Thanks for the donut,' and Van spent hours staring at it until he fell asleep. When he looks now, a message appears from the other for the first time today, left a few minutes ago.
> 
> Rome [10:30]: we still on for today?"

Van is nervous.

He’s been nervous all day, which is very unlike him. With The Nobles, he’s played shows in large arenas across the world, appeared on live tv shows, and accepted big awards in front of musical peers. Yet, Van has been carrying a low-level tremor of nervousness in his body that has only gotten worse as the hours of morning ticked past to bring him closer to lunch. He has a photoshoot with the band first thing in the morning, spends nearly an hour in makeup and styling, then another hour taking photos. It helps a little, or at least it distracts him from the unusual nervous emotion.

When the photo shoot is over, Van changes out of the edgy outfit to match their album concept to something more suited for a first date. He’s wearing a pair of grey designer jeans tucked into a pair of Chelsea boots, and a black button-up with sleeves rolled up past his elbows. It’s a nice shirt, he knows, it suits him and looks good enough that Chance eyed it with a raised eyebrow and a grin that said he knew what it was for even if the other didn’t say anything about it. After his previous encounter with Rome, Chance unsurprisingly admitted he could see Rome’s appeal to Van and teased him for a few days after. Though they avoided discussing it around Louis and the others as Chance understood Van’s trepidation now more than ever.

With the last of the morning hours slipping away, Van finds Rome is all he can think about, distracting him from any more useful pursuits. He wastes almost an hour back at the label, hardly adding to any conversations between the band and the team. Once their meetings are over for the morning, Van lingers in the hallway and checks his phone for any messages.

Rome left him a message last night after they exchanged numbers with a simple, “Thanks for the donut,” and Van spent hours staring at it until he fell asleep. When he looks now, a message appears from the other for the first time today, left a few minutes ago.

Rome: we  _ still on for today? _

Van grins and quickly types a response.

Van:  _ yes! Are you?  _

After a few seconds, his phone vibrates multiple times.

Rome:  _ why else would I ask? _

Rome:  _ meet me at cark moses coffee shop by the store _

Rome:  _ do you know it? _

He honestly doesn’t but can look it up on his GPS, so he lies.

Van:  _ Sure! When? _

Rome:  _ can you be here in 15 min? _

Van:  _ Yes :)  _

He’s so distracted by his phone that he doesn’t hear Angus coming, jumps at the rap of the other’s knuckles against the wall beside him.

“Van,” Angus says as Van startles himself into wide-eyed attention at the other man staring him down. Weren’t you going out for lunch?”

“Ah,” Van says, and his whole body relaxes. “Yeah, I’m going to head out now. Not sure when I’ll be back, maybe a few hours.” Angus nods before walking past him, and then there’s nothing left to do but push back from the wall and head to the elevator.

“Good afternoon, Van!” The secretary says from the front desk when he enters the waiting area. Her eyes go wider at the sight of the other’s clothing; Van can feel himself smile at the consideration and presses the down button of the elevator. “Wow, you look really nice! Do you have a solo shoot today?”

Van laughs. “Nope, not today.”

“You have a date with that cashier, don’t you?” Louis asks from where he’s sitting on a couch near a wall across from the secretary’s desk. His phone is in his hand as if he was just playing with it, clearly wasting time. “He’s been acting all jittery and rushing to get out, so I knew something was up.”

“Leave him alone, Louis,” Chance says as he comes back down the hallway behind Van. 

Louis shrugs his shoulders. “I’m just saying,” Louis informs him, watching Chance approach him. “I’ve known Van a long time, so I know when he’s acting weird.”

“We’re not all as  _ emotional  _ as you,” Chance says, coming over to grab Louis by the arm and pull him up bodily. “You owe me lunch. Let’s go.” Louis lets himself be tugged without protest, and Chance looks back over his shoulder to fix Van with the steady calm that he always carries behind his eyes. “Have a nice date though.”

“I knew it!” Louis cheers as Chance begins dragging him toward a door on the opposite side of the room. He watches the two of them shove each other upon exit with a smile until the elevator dings to signal its arrival.

“Good luck, Van,” The secretary adds, and Van rolls his eyes and enters the elevator before his embarrassment can get any worse.

* * *

The walk to the coffee shop is short. It’s only a few blocks down, near the record store, and he wonders how he’s missed it before. Maybe he was always too distracted in his hurry to get in and out with enough time to chat with, sometimes stare at, Rome.

Van isn’t sure if he’s grateful for the proximity of Rome’s store. On the one hand, he could do with more privacy with how close it is to his label and his apartment. But if it were any farther away, he would have risked someone recognizing him. His favorite baseball cap doesn’t cover enough of his face, but a mask would be too obvious. He spent at least a month watching the teal-haired cashier from the shop glare at customers and carefully stock the vinyl, and Van very much doubts he would have found it in him to impulsively visit the store if it wasn’t for the convenience.

He had almost regretted finally asking Rome out in the first stunned seconds of the other staring at him afterward, especially after Rome denied him. But then Van put as much energy into breaking down the other’s walls as he puts into his performance on stage, and sure enough, Rome finally gave in. He’s still not sure how. 

When he showed up last night with the donut-apology in hand, Van fully expected Rome to toss it and reprimand him for bringing Chance the previous time he visited. To say he was surprised when Rome showed signs of being touched by the gesture is an understatement. He would’ve been satisfied with just that from other. Then Rome unexpectedly asked Van if he was still interested, made a date for the next day, and even held his hand (sort of). He had to hold back from pushing it further and hurried home to convince Angus to make time for his private lunch plans.

It’s been over 12 hours since then, and now he’s reaching for the handle of a door to the Dark Moses Coffee Shop, a minute from Rome’s store, and pulling it open. Van is delighted to see Rome waiting for him, slouched over in one of the booths with his elbows on the table. He’s wearing a bright green sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his colored hair. It makes him stand out in the pastel-colored cafe, and Van finds his color choice ironic considering the other’s personality. 

When Van sits down across from Rome in the booth, the other gives him a look like he’s cataloging every detail about him in a single glance, before he says, “You’re two minutes late,” in an annoyed tone.

“I’m sorry. I tried to get here as fast as I could,” Van apologizes, offering a sincere smile, and he reaches to take off his hat before quickly pulling his hand back. It has to remain on, he reminds himself and shrugs off his jacket instead.

Rome isn’t looking at him anyway, reaching for the laminated menus from its holder on the table. He skids one across to Van, who pins it with his hand, and stares down at it. “It’s fine. How much time do you have for lunch?”

Van doesn’t look at the menu and watches Rome instead. “It’s okay if we go over. Don’t worry.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to consider your time,” Rome mutters to himself then looks up.

“Rome, this isn’t a business transaction,” Van laughs. Rome narrows his eyes at him but says nothing, so Van continues.”So, how was class? What major are you? I’m assuming second year.”

Rome’s gaze shifts out the window, away from Van. “Yes, you assumed right, and musical engineering.” Then he pins Van with a glare. ” And no, I don’t want to work for your place when I graduate.”

Van can’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t dare offer,” He teases. “Do you want to make records or what?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I like music, and there’s no money in making it unless you sell your soul or like getting paid like shit. So this was a good alternative,” Rome explains and cuts himself off, gaze shifting away from Van.

A waitress approaches from behind Van and stops at their table, smiling down at the two of them. She’s wearing a store-branded polo while holding a notepad and a pen. “Welcome to Dark Moses. What can I get you two?”

Before Van can answer, Rome speaks up with a simple, “Coffee, black. Thanks,” and holds the menu out for her. He’s not even looking at her anymore, gazing out the window. Van can’t find it in himself to be so dismissive and hands her the menu with a grin. “I’ll take a coffee with two sugars, please,” He orders.

She nods and disappears before Van turns back to Rome and asks, “Do you still live in the dorms then?”

Rome’s eyes snap to Van, his forehead tight on irritation. “Why? Are you planning to rob me?” He whispers.

Van can feel himself teetering on the verge of laughter. “No, no. I’m just making conversation. This isn’t an interrogation,” He tells Rome whose jaw visibly tightens when Van reaches out to touch the other’s arm resting on the counter. “This is how dates usually go, getting to know each other. Have you never been on a date before?”

There's a suggestion of color across Rome’s cheeks as he looks away and pulls his arm out of Van’s grasp. It makes Van’s shoulder tense. Maybe he said the wrong thing. “I don’t judge, Rome. I told you before that I like you the way you are,” He tries.

Rome stares at Van for a moment then shakes his head. “You’re fucking weird.”

Van smiles. “Most definitely.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Rome takes an audible breath that sounds like he’s annoyed. But he says, “I don’t live in the dorms. I live close to the university, though with my roommate Miles. He’s a second-year business major. Somehow lazy and athletic at the same time, kinda poor, but we get along well enough.”

Being let into Rome’s life just a little bit makes Van feel as if the walls around the other are slowly crumbling. “Are you guys high school friends?” He asks with honest curiosity, and Rome’s shoulders visibly tense. 

“Nope. I don’t talk to anyone from high school, really. It was shit, and I hated it.”

Van shrugs his shoulders. “Mine wasn’t spectacular either, but I guess there’s some good memories in there.”

“Not mine. That’s why I moved 100 miles away,” Rome says as he reaches for the napkin holder. He pulls one out for himself and sets one in front of Van.

“I guess that’s pretty far, but it could be further. Do you go home often?” Van asks.

“Not really.” Rome’s gaze slides sideways, past Van’s shoulders, and the same waitress appears at their booth again with two to-go coffee cups in hand. She sets them down on the table before rushing away and back to the kitchen.

Van reaches for his coffee without thinking. His fingers touch the lid instead of the paper around the cup itself, and he hisses at the mild burn. “Idiot.” He hears Rome mumble, and when he looks up, there’s a rare smile on the others face. If this moment has to come with mild irritation, Van will accept it.

Rome reaches for his own cup and toys with the sleeve around the cup then brings it to his lips for a sip. “Enough interrogation,” He says after swallowing. “You start talking.”

“I told you it wasn't an interrogation,” Van laughs then takes a drink, letting the bitter liquid rush down his throat and warm his insides. It’s still too bitter, but he tries not to let it show.

“Nope, not getting out of it.” Rome points at him. “Tell me where you live. I already know where you work. I don’t wanna’ hear what you do specifically, or you’ll get me fired up again. We both know how much I  _ love  _ your employer.”

Thank god, Van thinks to himself as he takes another sip because there’s no way they’re having that conversation this early. “Okay, I live a few blocks from here actually. That’s why I stopped in the store so easy.” 

“That’s why you stalked me. Okay, makes sense,” Rome says, but it sounds more mocking than understanding.

“Not stalking,” Van argues.

Rome raises his eyebrows as high as they will go. He doesn’t even need to speak because Van understands the expression already. He’s not buying it.

Van laughs and leans back against the booth in a slouch. “Maybe a little stalking,” He begins, and Rome opens his mouth to speak. “But I just wanted to see you more, especially after talking to you.”

Rome shuts his mouth, eyes darting anywhere but Van.

“Sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” It’s quick, rushed, and harsh with defensiveness, and Van can already feel himself frowning, worried he’s made Rome regret coming to meet him.

It takes almost thirty seconds before Rome finally says something while Van’s heart rushes. “It’s fine,” He says but doesn’t look at him still. “I’m just used to the attention, okay?” His mouth quivers like he’s not sure whether to laugh or scowl. 

Van’s smile is light, freed of concern, and glowing with satisfaction from being the first to give the other this attention. “I’m happy to be the first then,” He says, watching Rome as the other tips his cup for another drink. 

It may be the warmth of Rome’s coffee wafting up to the other’s face that turns Rome’s cheeks faintly pink, but Van can’t stop staring, the image drowning out any coherence of thoughts he might have had. “Good for you.” It takes Van a second before he realizes Rome finally said something, and he blinks a few times while his mind catches on that it was sarcasm. 

Van assumes there’s no use in addressing it further, and he directs the conversation back to small talk, asking Rome about his favorite bands, his classes, and anything else that comes to mind. He avoids talking about his own work, due to his secrecy, and each other’s home lives, a subject too heavy for a first date.

By the time they are talking about Rome’s first day of college, the other’s flush is gone, his attention firmly caught on the topic at hand. They talk for almost an hour. Van is content to listen to Rome and stare at the other without having to hide it, and Rome seems less irritable than usual, scowling only when the waitress begins clearing off their table.

He sees the way Rome leans back as she intrudes into the other’s personal space. When she pulls back and leaves them for another table, Rome’s gaze drops to the check that’s been sitting on the table for around ten minutes now. Van was ignoring it, not wanting to trigger the end of their date.

“It’s almost one o’clock,” Rome says abruptly, ending the conversation they were just having about favorite food, and Van can’t even pretend to be surprised. “Don’t you need to get back to work?”

“I don’t have to clock in and out,” Van says, but Rome is pushing back from the table already, getting to his feet.

“I have a class in forty-five minutes,” He says, the words rough with his usual irritation, and he’s moving towards the door so quickly Van has to scramble for his jacket and stumble to his feet to go after him.

“Wait!” But Rome’s moving down the street, pulling up the hood of his sweater to negate the cold. “Wait, wait, Rome!”

“What?” Rome spits, turning so suddenly Van almost runs into him before he can step backward. “It’s cold. The next bus comes is in a few minutes.” He points up at a bus stop sign next to them on the street, raising a brow at Van.

Van doesn’t think twice and says, “Okay, here.” He slips off his white wool jacket and holds it out to the other by the collar. Rome glares at the coat without reaching for it. “I’m sorry I made you come all the way here on such a cold day.”

“I can’t take your jacket,” Rome says flatly.

“You can,” Van insists with a warm smile. “It’s fine. I’ll stop by tomorrow while you’re at work.”

Rome stares at him. All the relaxation of the coffee shop is gone, replaced with a glare and the familiarity of his frown. Then he turns away from Van and crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders visibly tense from the cold. “I’m fine,” He says, expression hidden from the hood and the way he’s turned.

There’s obviously no convincing Rome, Van decides and moves without thinking, slipping his arms around Rome’s waist like they were meant to settle there. He leans forward until his chest is pressed against Rome’s back, pulling the other’s body against his to offer warmth from the cold. Rome’s shoulders are tense in immediate, reflexive response, his entire body stiffening under Van’s touch. He keeps his arms at his side while Van’s tighten around Rome’s middle, fingers digging gently into the soft material of the other’s sweatshirt.

For just a breath, it’s quiet. Van presses his nose against Rome’s shoulder so he can breathe in a lungful of winter-chill air combined with the scent of detergent and mild sweat from the other’s clothes. It’s a comforting smell. “What are you doing?” Rome growls at him, anger in his voice carrying enough without Van needing to see his face, which he still can’t. “We’re in  _ public _ .” Despite his words, Rome doesn’t try to move out of Van’s embrace, still frozen.

Van tips his head to the side, resting his chin against Rome’s shoulder, so he can see Rome’s face this time. There's pink coloring across Rome’s face, but his frown is firmly in place, his jaw set on tension. “You wouldn’t take my jacket, but I don’t want you to be cold waiting for the bus,” He explains. “Plus, I don’t see anyone else around.”

He watches Rome’s eyes scan the area before the other turns his head as far as he can to shoot a glare at Van. “The bus will be here any minute,” Rome tells him before reaching down to grab one of Van’s arms, but Van let's go momentarily, only to clutch Rome’s hand in his own. “Come on, Van.”

Stubborn as a mule, Van doesn’t let go. He laughs, breath ruffling the hair on Rome’s head. “Admit this is at least warm,” He says as Rome tries to wiggle his hand out of his clutches, but Van is the stronger of the two, not letting his grip ease.

Rome groans a noise of annoyance. “ _ Yes _ , it’s warmer,” He groans.

That's all Van wanted to hear. Relaxing his arms around Rome and picking his head up, Van waits for the other to step out of his hug first. It only takes Rome a few seconds, but he’s stepping away and whipping around to face him with undisguised irritation, “Was that necessary?” Rome hisses.

  
  


“Maybe not, but I wanted to teach you a lesson,” Van says, laughing faint in the back of his throat.

“What lesson?” Rome growls, shuffling his feet as if he can’t decide how he wants to stand; he settles for crossing his arms over his chest.

Van leans in close, taking a step closer to the other, and Rome’s eyes go wide as he blinks up at Van’s sudden proximity. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong around me,” Van tells him. “If you’re cold, you’re cold. I won’t ever think you’re weak for having normal human emotions and reactions.”

Rome stares at him for a moment. There’s complete silence for a breath, then, “Fine,” He says, voice barely catching on the word. His gaze shifts away from Van to something else behind him, mouth twisting on some emotion too repressed for Van to interpret.

But the loud noise of the bus takes Rome’s attention away, derailing the conversation further. When the bus pulls up to the curb, its doors open to let out a few passengers, and Van doesn’t know what to say from here. Rome has to leave, and they ended on such an awkward note. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. The date was going well until now.

Before Van can decide what to do, Rome nods at him with a quiet, “See ya,” and tries to pass him. 

Van grabs his arm to stop him, and Rome halts any movement, glaring up at him. “Wait, Rome, I’m sorry if I said-” He begins.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. Everything is fine,” Rome tells him, adopting that offhand dismissal he always uses whenever something serious is under discussion. He’s trying to get away, not even meeting his gaze, and Van has to let him this time.

“Okay,” Van surrenders and loosens his grip.

He expects Rome to run after the bus, but he doesn’t move immediately and glances up at Van. “Next time, I’ll wear a fucking coat,” He grumbles.

Van smiles in a moment of contentment from the hidden promise behind Rome’s words. It’s not the first time the other has suggested a second meeting instead of outright saying it, and Van is quickly learning Rome likes to use hints to demonstrate his intentions. “Okay,” He replies for lack of a better response.

When he watches Rome turn away and dash after the bus still waiting for him, Van doesn’t hold him back this time, and like last time, he waits until the bus is pulling away before he leaves. But unlike the night before, Rome doesn’t sit where Van can see him through the window.

It leaves him feeling unsettled even into the afternoon up to when he hears his phone vibrate on the table in a meeting. He swipes up the lock screen to reveal the message and instantly grins.

Rome:  _ 4/5 first date, coffee was shit _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! :) Appreciate all my comments, kudos, and readers.
> 
> But I am considering putting this on hiatus because I am kind of lacking inspiration. Really stuck lately. But I already have a few chapters written. Anyway, thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ["I enjoyed the movie a lot, and I'd love to see you again," Van beams. His mouth is soft around the curve of his smile. Rome wonders if it would feel as warm under his fingertips as it did against his mouth but knows he doesn't have the courage to reach up to find out.]

It's not that Rome is impatient for Van to stop by the shop. He's been busy the past few days. There's classes, studying, sleeping, and working, all to keep him busy. He's worked at the record store twice since their first date -- a part of him shudders at the admission of it being a date -- but Van hasn't stopped by once. He hasn't texted or called either. Van has his number. They've exchanged texts before, yet it's been nothing but radio silence since.

He's working on a Saturday with online orders to fill and some displays to arrange. But his phone is a distraction, from where he tucked it into his pants pocket, not vibrating. Rome knows he needs to move past this annoyance and decides putting his energy into work is the quickest way possible.

Rome takes his phone out, places it next to the computer, turns his back to the counter so he won't get caught up in staring at it. It's better that way, even if he has to print his order list so he doesn't have to check the computer, even if he can't see who's coming into the shop before they speak.

The first two customers are exactly that, customers, and he nearly forgets about Van after a few hours until his phone vibrates. He doesn't check it immediately, finishing the order he was working on; then he turns around to stare at it in consideration. Maybe it's an emergency, or just Quinn and Miles.

"Fuck it," He whispers to himself before snatching the phone and swiping the screen to check.

Van:  _ You working right now? _

Rome rolls his eyes. He's not sure what he expected, but this casual tone wasn't it. There's something about it that makes Rome contemplate ignoring it out of spite. But then he'd be admitting it bothered him.

Rome:  _ yes _

Thirty seconds pass. No response from Van. Rome scoffs and leaves the phone where it sits on the counter. Another hour passes with ten orders filled. By the time the door opens, the worst of Rome's agitated energy has bled off, and he doesn't spin around right away to see who it is. It's true that his stomach drops with hope, but he tries to ignore it and says, "Just a minute," without turning around to face the customer.

"That's fine!" The newcomer says, and Rome's heartbeat skids out at the familiarity of his voice.

It's for the best that his back is turned. It gives him a moment to wait for the first flush of adrenaline to pass into tolerable calm. He sets the vinyl aside, takes a slow breath, and then turns around with his expression set into the best attempt at a frown he can manage.

He thinks he's ready. It's not like he doesn't know what Van looks like; it's only been a few days since they last saw each other. There's nothing different about the soft of the other's smile or the glow of his eyes. When he moves forward, it's not deliberate. Rome swears its a response to magnetism.

"You showed up?" Rome says stupidly, even his voice betraying him and coming out shocked and distant.

"Yep," Van tips his head sideways, grins like he's having trouble holding in his delight. His ever-present hat casts a shadow over his face. "'Why else would I ask if you're working?"

"Well, I wasn't sure if you were still interested," He replies, then instantly regrets it.

Van's smile disappears. "Yes, of course, I am. I'm sorry I didn't message or call. I got really busy with work. I'm a bit of a workaholic," He admits.

Rome wants to believe him. He shrugs his shoulders with the best impression of carelessness he can manage. "Whatever."

Despite his dismissal, Van is back to grinning at him in that way he always does. "Did you miss me?"

"What?" Rome's leaning over the counter, looking at the note left by his manager he's already read twice, pretending to be busy. "God no. I was busy with school and work."

"If you say so," Van chuckles and steps closer to the counter, causing Rome to look up at him. "But you at least thought about me, right?"

Rome can feel his face go hot, cheeks going from pale to crimson. "Maybe like once…" It almost pains him to admit it, so he forces aggression into his voice. "When you ghosted me."

Van frowns again. "I just got busy and didn't know when I'd be free again. I didn't want to get your hopes up."

"You," Rome blurts, reaching for coherency that refuses to come past the embarrassment. "You're so…"

"You don't need to be embarrassed," Van tells him and leans into the counter, which feels like an invasion of Rome's personal space.

He sits up and scoffs, "I'm not embarrassed," despite the burning down to his chest.

"You're blushing," Van points out, reaches out like he's going to touch Rome's cheek. Rome's hand comes up instantly, slaps the other's touch away before he can even decide if he wants it or not.

"Shut up," Rome growls, looking away from Van's face to the safety of the other's shirt. There's a pattern of stripes across the front. "What did you come here for? Get out." He knows his blush isn't fading. If anything, it's going darker.

Van starts moving away toward the door, but he's backing up instead of turning around. "Okay, I just wanted to apologize in person." He stops walking. "Are you free tomorrow?"

There's a breath of time as Rome decides how to answer. "Yeah, but I need to be home at night to study for a test Monday." He answers. He intends it to come out as a refusal, but it sounds hopeful instead. "Get out."

He watches Van reach behind for the door handle and feels his heart race when the other doesn't turn it. "Let's do something during the day then." He sounds certain, asking, and demanding in equal measures. "Maybe catch a matinee?"

Rome gives in with a nod and waves at the door with the flick of his hand. "Fine, but I pick the movie. Now leave."

The smile Van gives him is blinding, warm enough that it eclipses Rome. "Should I come pick you up?"

"You have a car?" Rome only remembers Van mentioning an Uber or walking.

Van laughs. "Well, yeah. I just don't drive it much."

Rome snorts. "Okay, let's not risk you driving us into a ]wall. Meet me at the theater at the B Mall." This gets him a confused expression, silence, and an eyebrow raise from Van. "Did I stutter?" He adds, emphasized with annoyance.

Shaking his head, Van opens the door and steps through with his back to it still. "Nope! We'll meet there. Have a good day at work." The door shuts with a click, and Van's out of the store before Rome can offer a retort.

Even though he doesn't get another text from Van the rest of his shift, Rome keeps his phone in his pants pocket just in case.

* * *

It's cold outside. Rome got to the mall earlier than expected and forgot to grab a jacket from the apartment, or at least something heavier than his flannel shirt. After finishing some homework and eating lunch, he hopped on the closest bus from his apartment building to the mall as planned. On the ride over, his attention was contained to the power metal blaring through his earbuds and the tetris game on his phone. It wasn't until he exited the vehicle that he felt the prickling of nervous energy radiating throughout his body.

He's waiting in front of the movie theater attached to the mall, standing close to the curb. Without buying tickets, Rome can't enter the lobby, and subconsciously, he worries Van won't show so he doesn't want to purchase tickets yet.

It's too easy to think about Van, without the distraction of his music or his video game. After Van stopped in last night, Rome's mind kept returning to the dimples in the other's smiles and the cheerful lilt of his voice; or the way Van's lashes dip when he laughs and his mouth curves at one corner. Now he can picture the other without even trying.

The thought makes him more irritable. These memories and thoughts of Van are bleeding over into the few quiet minutes Rome has during the day. That's far more frustrating than anything else. His goal coming to college was to earn his degree and get a decent job after graduation. Not find a boyfriend.

Rome scowls and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, very deliberately, actively avoiding thinking about Van--at least until the other gets here.

He's concentrating on  _ not thinking about Van _ with his head ducked down, attention caught in his own n _ on-Van _ thoughts, instead of on his surroundings. When Van finally appears, instead of his usual approach with a bright smile, it's a tap on Rome's shoulder that signals the other's arrival.

Rome's head comes up on sudden concern of a stranger randomly touching him, ready to back away or fight, or something. But as soon as Rome's gaze falls to Van standing before him, his chest unclenches from the initial panic. The familiar coat is draped across Van's shoulders, along with a black hat on his head, but the sweatshirt attire has returned, instead of the button-up from their first date.

"Hey," The voice is cheerful with the overbearing extraversion that always sets Rome's teeth on edge.

Before Rome bothers with a reply, he retrieves his phone to check the time. "The movie starts in ten minutes," He deadpans and returns his hands to his pockets.

Van blinks. "You didn't even tell me what movie yet," He laughs. "Did you buy the tickets already?"

"No," Rome snaps. "I wanted to make sure you'd show." He advances to the box office without notice, and Van instantly follows on his heels, just a step behind. "I hated all the current movies, so I picked a throwback showing of  _ Reservoir Dogs _ ."

"Okay! That's cool. I've never seen it," Van tells him, and Rome turns to scowl at the smiling fool.

"Have you  _ ever  _ seen a Tarantino movie?"

Van shakes his head, eyes shining innocence. "Nope. Is that the director?."

Rome presses his teeth together. Maybe he should've stopped at one date. "Yes, he's the director," Rome tells him with the roll of his eyes.

Van hums in reply as they approach the box office.

There's a teenager standing behind a glass window who speaks to them through the mic, asking Rome which movie they need tickets for, and Rome tells her his choice. When she gives them the price, Rome digs into his pants pockets to pay, but Van touches his arm, freezing Rome's movement.

"Let me pay," Van offers.

When Rome tilts his head to look up, Van's smile is so dazzling bright that Rome almost shields his eyes. He has to look away from Van and hide the warmth rushing to his cheeks to save any dignity he has left. Has he always been this handsome? "Fine," Rome snaps and steps back from the window, letting Van stand in front of him.

Flustered from the unexpected gesture, Rome blankly stares at the screen above the cashier's head while Van pays for their tickets. He wonders if Van is trying to emasculate him by paying or annoy him by showing off his money. Quinn would say Van was trying to be a gentleman or show his affection, but Rome would argue that stuff only happens in movies.

By the time Van turns to face him, the burn across Rome's cheeks is swept away by the chilly-biting air. He's still smiling, and Rome wants to punch it off his face in hopes it would slow his heart. He settles for swiping the paper tickets from the other's hands. "Let's go," He tells Van then marches to the door of the theater.

Van trails behind him with a laugh.

* * *

"What the hell," Rome mutters as he exits the bathroom to the lobby of the theater where Van is waiting for him. He waits until he's a few feet from Van before he adds, "I can't believe you bought popcorn  _ and  _ candy."

"Why?" Van asks, juggling a bag of popcorn and a box of peanut m&m's. "It's not  _ all  _ for me. I promise I'll share."

"Are you twenty-two or two?" Rome asks with a raised brow. He takes the lead and exits the lobby down to the movie doors, searching for the theater playing  _ Reservoir Dogs _ .

Van laughs. "If I was two, then we'd be in trouble. Well, you'd be in-"

Rome's shoulders stiffen, and he turns to glare at Van walking next to him. "Don't joke about that in public, idiot," He hisses. Maybe he's seen too many cop shows, but they're his guilty pleasure.

"Okay, okay," Van tells him, but it doesn't calm Rome's nerves. "But what's so bad about buying some snacks? We're going to a movie. Isn't that normal?"

"I guess. Usually, it's like families and shit with kids. They get sucked into paying double because the movie theater can jack up the prices," Rome rants. He stops when they come to a door with "Reservoir Dogs" in lights above it, and Rome pushes it open to enter, holding it open for Van after. Scanning the seats once they're inside, he settles on a pair in an empty row near the back of the room and begins climbing the stairs.

After a moment, Van asks, "I'm a sucker then?" as they reach the seats Rome picked out.

Rome ambles down the row to sit near the middle. "Yes," He deadpans before slumping into the chair and hitting the button for it to recline under his feet.

Van takes the seat next to him and rearranges his popcorn to sit in his lap with the box of candy in the hole designed for a drink. Reclining his chair too, he turns to Rome with a grin. "Well,  _ this  _ sucker has candy and popcorn," Van teases, digging his hand into the bag between his legs. When he picks out a piece and places it into his mouth, Van chews with a grin while he meets Rome's gaze.

Rome rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

His attention veers to the screen playing Coke ads at a low volume, and he stares mindlessly until something in his peripheral moves in front of him. When Rome looks down, Van is holding out a handful of popcorn, and Rome's gaze snaps up at the other. "I'm a sucker who shares," Van says.

Van's mouth is quirked up in a taunt, eyes half-lidded, and Rome is left to radiate embarrassment under the focus of the other's gaze. He snorts in an attempt to hide Van's effect on him and holds his hand out, letting Van drop the popcorn in his palm.

The lights start to dim as Rome munches on the few pieces Van gave him, and the first trailer rolls. It's a romantic comedy with some famous actress Rome recognizes but can't name, and he tries to hold back from making comments by keeping his mouth busy with the popcorn. When the next trailer comes on, a teenage couple sneaks into the row above them and takes a seat directly behind Van.

It's only the credits, so Rome doesn't care if they're talking loudly. In fact, he ran out of popcorn to shove in his face and can't help himself from leaning into Van to whisper, "This looks awful," about the next horror trailer that plays.

Van's shoulder presses into Rome's as he comes closer, and Rome notes it but doesn't move away. "Not into horror?"

Rome can feel himself frown. "Not really. Most horror movies are the same ol' bullshit."

He can see Van nod without looking at him directly. "Me neither. But more because I don't enjoy being scared like that," Van declares.

"Really?" Rome huffs amusement. "You enjoyed sneaking up on me earlier."

"That's only because you have a cute reaction," Van whispers.

Rome's head snaps to look at Van who flashes the edge of a smile, and although it's too dark to read his expression clearly, the flirtatious edge in his voice is clear. "What?" Rome asks, voice laced with self-conscious frustration, thankful for the dim to hide the glow across his cheeks

"Your eyes get huge, and it' s--" Van cuts himself off, and on the one hand, Rome is thankful for whomever saved him from further embarrassment until he realizes why. The couple behind them is laughing and chatting loud enough for even Van to stop talking and glance over his seat at them.

"Who the hell," Rome murmurs, lifting his head to glare at the teenagers as if he can threaten them through the raw intensity of his gaze. They don't even notice him, teasing each other by throwing popcorn back and forth. He lets out a groan and slouches back into his seat with a pout.

Van reaches out with another hand of popcorn, and Rome swipes it from him, cringing as the sound of their laughter continues even when the lights dim to signal the movie starting. "I hope they shut up soon," He grumbles to himself after taking a few bites of popcorn.

He hears Van hum acknowledgment at his side. "Hopefully."

Although he's seen the movie many times, Rome's favorite scene is the beginning when the men are talking at the table, discussing whether they tip or not, so he almost sighs in relief when the teenagers finally quiet down. He can enjoy the movie in peace, or at least, he thinks.

At around fifteen minutes into the movie, the temperature in the room seems to drop, and Rome finds himself switching between rubbing his hands together and tucking them under his legs. He glances at Van, who's finished with what he wanted of the popcorn, moving on to eating the m&m's now. "It's nearly October. Why is the a/c on full blast?" Rome whispers to him.

Van doesn't react for a moment of time, and Rome wonders if the other is ignoring him. Then he blinks and sets the candy down before shrugging off his jacket behind him. It's not until Van pulls it out from behind himself that Rome realizes what the other is doing. "Wait," He begins, only to fall silent when Van drops the coat in his lap.

"No rejecting this time. You're cold. I have a sweater on," Van orders. "Please wear it." He's staring at Rome, his full expression too difficult to read in the dark, but there's a clear frown there.

Rome's hands tense and curl around the fabric of the coat in his lap. "Fine." He tries to ignore how hard his heart is pounding and leans forward in his seat to shrug the jacket on. It's oversized on Van and even more so on Rome, but the warmth that comes with it is welcomed. "Happy now?" Rome asks sarcastically once he's settled back into the seat.

The corner of Van's mouth is turned up, lips curving on a smile like he's trying to hold back the expression and not quite succeeding. "I've been happy this whole time," He tells Rome. "But now I'm satisfied."

His words affect Rome with greater force than they should, and he has to swallow to get enough moisture back in his mouth to speak. "Good for you," Rome bites and turns to the screen, away from the sparkle of the other's smile.

He can hear Van chuckling under his breath, sees the shift in the seat in the corner of his eye, as he tries to concentrate on the movie. Rome doesn't admit it out loud, but he's thankful for the jacket. It keeps him warm throughout the movie, and he feels comfortable and safe next to Van, especially when the other stops eating halfway through.

There's a flashback scene, breaking away from the violence, where the characters are talking in an office when Van suddenly shifts his weight, slides in impossibly closer against Rome until Van's right leg is pressing into Rome's left.

Rome can't help himself from glancing at Van, letting his gaze linger at the silhouette of Van's sharp nose and angular jaw. His fingers move of their own accord, the back of his hand bumping against Van's wrist on the armrest between them. He doesn't mean to signal Van's attention, but the movement does anyway, causing Van to turn his way.

Van's gaze slides from Rome's eyes to his mouth before his attention turns to their arms huddled together, and Rome can feel himself stiffen in anticipation. "Do you want to hold my hand, Rome?" He whispers, gaze flickering up to Rome as a grin breaks free across his face.

"Shut up." Rome hisses, ignoring the way his heart skids. He jerks his arm from Van's and moves to pull off the armrest, but Van grabs him by the wrist, holding Rome in place. Before Rome can protest, Van's pressing his palm against his, lacing their fingers together.

He takes a breath, staring down at their hands interlaced on the armrest. He should feel humiliated or annoyed that Van assumed this was Rome's goal, but there's a pressure against the inside of his chest, two parts pleasant and terrifying. When Rome finally gathers enough courage to look up, Van's smile breaks wide. "I know you weren't trying to, but my hands are cold," Van whispers. "Keep me warm?"

Rome opens his mouth. There's a retort on his tongue, but he swallows it down. He looks away instead, staring at the screen instead of Van's smile, and when he finally sighs, "fine," there's hardly a sliver of irritation left in his voice.

Van hums contentment and relaxes the grip of his fingers in Rome's. It takes everything in Rome not to look down. For a moment, he doesn't move or even flex his fingers, trying to concentrate on the movie. However, his attention keeps drifting to the warmth of Van's palm and the soft texture of his skin. Definitely an office worker.

It's the second time they've held hands, if he counts their encounter in front of the store, and Rome's second date ever. Ever since high school, when he lost friends and distanced himself from others, Rome assumed his first date wouldn't occur until after schooling, if at all. No one but Quinn and Miles, who he wasn't interested in romantically, would accept his interests, and if they could, his attitude was enough to turn anyone away. Not that he could blame him.

His mouth got him in trouble in high school with his parents and his teachers, and now that he was in college, it was his classmates and his manager. Luckily, his coworkers never worked at the same time as him. Quinn warned him to shape up, or he'd die alone, which was her way of joking. But there were times late at night when Rome couldn't sleep when he wondered if she was right.

Then came Van, who appeared out of what seemed like thin air, never complaining or yelling at him for his attitude. He was always interested in Rome's opinions and favorites, even seemed genuinely attracted to him.

Rome didn't know how to react. This was a first for him. All his instincts told him Van would wise up soon. Don't get attached, don't pretend it's going somewhere. Don't act romantic and cheesy. He can't be vulnerable.

Yet, here he was holding hands with a good-looking, well-to-do guy who somehow managed to go from stranger to customer to date within just a few months. Van had him under a spell. It was the only reasonable explanation. Must be witchcraft. Glancing over at Van, Rome contemplates this idea. No way a witch could be as stupid as Van.

There's laughter on his tongue, amused with himself, and Van glances up at him, his mouth twitching on a half-smile. "What?" Van asks, his voice breaking in an almost laugh.

Rome shakes his head. "Nothing," He says then clears his throat and returns his gaze to the screen.

He feels Van squeeze his hand a few times before relaxing, and maybe Rome squeezes back.

Holding Van's hand during the movie was more comfortable than it had any right to be.

Once the movie is over and the lights slowly illuminate the room, Rome is reluctant to let go of the warmth. When Van's hand doesn't leave Rome's as the credits start to roll, Rome turns to Van who's grinning. "I liked it more than I thought I would," Van tells him.

Rome clears his throat while his mind reaches for something interesting to say. "I can't believe you thought it would be bad," He managers, offering his usual scowl, but his gaze dips flickers to Van still holding his hand.

"Not bad," Van mutters. "I just had no expectations." Then he flexes his fingers and loosens his grip, and Rome thinks Van might pull away. But Van's fingers tighten around Rome's again, squeezing pressure against his skin, and Van stands up from the seat, still clutching his hand.

The movement of Rome's feet feels natural, unthinking, and he's mirroring Van to stand and follow him out of the theater, letting himself be pulled by Rome's hand. He's not sure what they talk about as they exit the building. Though he's not sure Van is saying anything of substance beyond the happy burble of laughter he has for all Rome's insults.

Rome's heart hasn't stopped pounding since Van closed his fingers around his hand and proudly walked with him through the lobby. Every shift of their fingers feels like an earthquake. As they reach the side of the building where they met earlier, Rome's fingers are tightening on Van's hand without his intention.

"Did you drive here?" Rome asks, peeking around Van to stare at the parking lot over his shoulder. He takes another step, one more, until he's close enough to Van for their hand-holding to feel less awkward.

Van hums a confirmation, and they both stand together in silence. When Rome glances at him, the other meets his eyes with a calm smile. He seems completely unruffled, like standing in the freezing wind outside the movie theater is perfectly ordinary.

Rome doesn't know what to say or do. This is his second date  _ ever _ , and Van seems hesitant to speak for once. The lack of uncertainty makes Rome feel anxious, anticipation, and panic rising in his throat. So he goes with the first thing that comes to mind, blurting, "What to get something to eat?" with so much desperation that it comes out sounding like anger instead of an invitation.

He doesn't know why he asks it, or why it was so hard to get out. It just seemed like the right thing to say, the next progression of their date. He looks down, stares at Van's sweatshirt instead of the danger of his eyes. After forcing another breath, Rome tries again in an attempt to sound more casual and less forced. "There's a cheap burger place nearby." The wind catches his hair, calming his nerves. "I'll even let you drive us."

The fingers at Rome's hand go tight, and Rome thinks Van will say yes. Then there's a sigh, heavy and resigned, and Rome can feel hope he had burn into the ashes of embarrassment when Van says, "I can't."

And that's what he gets for being greedy.

"Right." Rome pulls his hand free, making the motion sharp and fast so Van doesn't have a chance to catch him and hold him back. "I'll just catch the bus and head home then."

"I  _ can't _ ." Van sounds pleading and apologetic, and he's reaching for Rome's shoulder before the other twists away to hide behind the wall of his shoulders. "I have an event tonight...for work." He steps closer, his hand lands at Rome's shoulder again. "Rome?"

Rome blinks hard, wills the wind to chill the flush on his cheeks away. He's burning hot, embarrassed from the rejection, and his overreaction, and he wants to run away to the safety of the bus stop down the road.

"Fine," He says instead and turns back around, fixing Van with the best glare he can manage while his face still glows with heat. "Fine, go to your stupid blood-sucking event."

Van's still frowning as he takes a step in and reaches out for Rome's unruly hair. Rome is just processing the weight of Van's fingers at the back of his head when there's warmth against his mouth and the press of friction against his lips.

Van is kissing him. Shit.

Rome doesn't move. He doesn't have time to process what's happening, much less to decide how he wants to react. He's just staring wide-eyed at the dark of Van's face shadowed by his cap with his mouth half-open, still reaching for some statement lost by Van's mouth against his.

His fingers are slack and curling against the texture of his jeans instead of offering any reaction at all. If this were a movie, Rome would lift his hands to Van's shoulder and curl his fingers up into the other's hair to pull him down. But he can't think enough to even close his eyes, much less to offer a response to Van's kiss. All Rome can do is hold perfectly still, staring at the tan of Van's skin and the dark of his hair peeking out from under his hat as the other's mouth presses hard against his.

When Vans pulls away, inhaling a lungful of air, Rome can finally see the other's entire face instead of just the up-close detail. "We should get burgers next time," Van is saying like he regularly kisses Rome. "Do you have any free time next weekend?"

Rome blinks. He's staring at Van, gaping at him really. His thoughts are scattered beyond his own saving. "What?"

"I enjoyed the movie a lot, and I'd love to see you again," Van beams. His mouth is soft around the curve of his smile. Rome wonders if it would feel as warm under his fingertips as it did against his mouth but knows he doesn't have the courage to reach up to find out.

At the back of Rome's head, Van's fingers ease, and his hand slides through Rome's hair in a momentary caress before his hand falls to his side while he takes a half-step back. "Are you free next Saturday?" He tips in by an inch and pushes his hands into his pockets. The motion makes Van look submissive, like he's surrendering himself to Rome, and he should because he just stole Rome's first kiss.

He clenches his jaw and takes a breath. "That's what you have to say about what you just did?" Rome asks and tightens his mouth down into the comfort of a scowl. "You just -- you kissed me like -- you didn't even warn me!" Rome can hear the volume of his voice rising but can't stop himself.

"I'm sorry, Rome," Van tells him, his mouth soft with apology and eyes shining with concern. "I guess I didn't think you'd reject me. You let me hold your hand and --"

"I wouldn't reject you," Rome snaps. "You just -- surprised me is all. That was my first kiss. Okay, asshole?" He can feel his face heat, can feel his cheeks flare to crimson, and he hopes Van knows by now that his cursing isn't something to take personally. Seeing Van so self-conscious makes him regret the outburst.

Thankfully, Van's mouth breaks into a smile, and when he steps forward, Rome thinks the other is going to kiss him again. Instead, Van pulls Rome closer to him by the lapels on his jacket and reaches down to begin buttoning it from the bottom up.

Rome doesn't know what to say. He stares down at Van's fingers, hoping the other can't hear his heart beating wildly in his chest.

It takes Van a few seconds to get the jacket closed, leaving one button undone at the top. "I'm sorry," Van repeats with nothing but calm in his voice, dropping his hands from Rome. "But I hope it was okay anyway."

There's a few things Rome can say: Kissing was better than he thought it would be. Rome wished he kissed back. Maye Van should kiss him again. He needs to thank Quinn later, or maybe not. And this better not be a joke because he will burn Van's car  _ to the ground  _ if it is.

But he settles for, "It's fine," and looks away at once, fixing the car lot with a truly vicious scowl.

"Okay," Van says with that easy surrender so endlessly frustrating. "Keep my jacket for now. I'll get it next time we meet."

Rome realizes he never answered Van about next Saturday, even though the other repeated it, so he decides to answer instead of objecting to Van's jacket. It's cold outside anyway, and he still has to wait for the bus. "Next Saturday works," He tells Van, trying to sound uninterested.

Van's still staring at him when Rome dares to look. "Sounds good."

With their plans settled and marked for next weekend, Van offers a quick goodbye and leaves Rome for the parking lot. As Rome begins his walk toward the bus stop, he wonders if Van would've kissed him goodbye if he reacted positively, instead of essentially telling him.

Maybe, next time, Rome will kiss Van goodbye instead, see how the other likes being surprised. It's all about revenge. Certainly not because he wants to kiss Van.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I will continue this story. But I do have this update!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Any characters’ opinions expressed are solely their own and do not express the views or opinions of the author.
> 
> staticskies.tumblr.com


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